Alyosha’s memories of his family are closely connected with the passing of his father and the arrival of his grandmother “from above, from Nizhny, by water.” These words were incomprehensible to the boy.

The grandmother with a kind, doughy face and a melodious voice asked to say goodbye to her father. For the first time, the boy saw adults cry. The mother screamed and howled terribly: a loved one had left, the family was left without a breadwinner. I remember my father as cheerful and skilled; he often tinkered with his son and took him fishing with him. Mom is strict, hard-working, stately.

They buried their father in a yellow coffin; there was water in the hole and frogs were croaking.
During these terrible days, Alyosha’s brother Maximka was born, but he did not live even a few days and died.

During a trip on a steamboat, the little traveler first heard the unfamiliar words “sailor”, “Saratov”. Maksimka was put in a box, and the plump grandmother carried him out onto the deck with outstretched arms. The gray-haired sailor explained that they had gone to bury him.

“I know,” the boy answered, “I saw how the frogs were buried at the bottom of the hole.”
“Don’t feel sorry for the frogs, pity the mother,” said the sailor. - Look how grief hurt her.

Seeing that the ship had docked and people were getting ready to go ashore, the future writer decided that it was time for him too. But fellow travelers began to point their fingers and shout: “Whose? Whose?" The sailor came running and took the boy back to the cabin, wagging his finger.

Travel by steamship on the Volga

On the way, Alyosha talked a lot with his grandmother, he liked to listen to her, the words were like flowers, the speech was figurative, melodious. Akulina Ivanovna herself, plump, heavy, with long hair, which she called a real punishment and combed for a long time, moved surprisingly easily, her eyes laughed. She became best friend grandson for life, gave him the strength that allowed him to cope with any difficulties.

Pictures of nature changed outside the window, the Volga majestically carried its waters, the steamer moved slowly, because it was going against the current. Grandmother told tales about good fellows, about saints, jokes about a brownie who splintered his finger. The sailors also sat down to listen to the stories, for which they gave the storyteller tobacco and treated her to vodka and watermelons. We had to eat fruit secretly, since a sanitary inspector was traveling on the same flight, who forbade everything. Mom went out onto the deck, but stayed away, trying to reason with her grandmother, saying that they were laughing at her. She just smiled in response: so be it.

Both adults and children did not like Alyosha. He established warm relations only with Aunt Natalya. Grandfather Vasily received the boy with especially hostility. The house seemed squat and ugly. There were some rags hanging in the cramped and dirty courtyard; it was unkempt and uncomfortable.

Live in Nizhny Novgorod was empty, colorful and dull, like a sad fairy tale. The house was filled with a poisonous fog of general enmity. The mother's brothers demanded the division of property, since Varvara got married “by hand,” without the blessing of her parents. The uncles cursed and shook their heads like dogs. Mikhail, the “Jesuit,” was tied up with a towel, and the blood was washed off the face of Jacob, the “farmazon.” Grandfather screamed deafeningly at everyone. The children were crying.

Kashirin Sr. seemed cleaner and neater than his sons, although they had suits and vests. The grandfather watched Alyosha with evil and intelligent eyes, the boy tried not to get in the way.

The future writer recalled that his parents were always cheerful, friendly with each other, and communicated a lot. And here, at my grandfather’s, everyone swore, slandered, denounced each other, and offended the weaker. The offspring were downtrodden and undeveloped.

Not beating, but science

The children played pranks: they heated up instruments to prank Master Gregory, organized competitions between teams of cockroaches, caught mice and tried to train them. The head of the family handed out slaps left and right, and spanked his grandson Sasha for a red-hot thimble. The Astrakhan guest had never been present at executions before; his father had never beaten him.

“And in vain,” the grandfather said.

Usually Varvara protected her son, but one day he had to experience a strong hand. My cousin persuaded me to repaint the white holiday tablecloth. The cruel head of the family whipped both Sashka the informer and Alyosha with rods. The grandmother scolded the mother for failing to save her son from the massacre. And for the rest of his life, the boy’s heart became sensitive to any injustice and insult.

The grandfather tried to make peace with his grandson: he brought him gifts - gingerbread and raisins, and told him how he himself had been beaten more than once. In his youth, he pulled barges with a barge hauler from Astrakhan to Makaryev.

My grandmother wove lace from an early age, got married in 14, gave birth to 18 children, but almost all of them died. Akulina Ivanovna was illiterate, but she knew many stories, fairy tales, stories about Myron the hermit, Martha the mayor and Elijah the prophet; you could listen to them for days. Alyosha did not let the narrator go, asked many questions, and received comprehensive answers to everything. Sometimes my grandmother would invent tales about devils who would crawl out of the heater and turn over a tub of laundry or start a leapfrog. It was impossible not to believe in the authenticity.

In the new house on Kanatnaya Street, tea parties were held, orderlies, neighbors, and a familiar guest nicknamed Good Deed came. The cabman Peter brought jam, someone brought white bread. The grandmother told the audience stories, legends, and epics.

Holidays in the Kashirin family

The holidays began the same way: everyone came dressed up, Uncle Yakov took the guitar. He played for a long time, it seemed as if he was falling asleep, and his hands acted on their own. His voice was unpleasantly whistling: “Oh, I’m bored, I’m sad...” Alyosha cried, listening to how one beggar stole foot wraps from another.

Having warmed up, the guests began to dance. Vanya the Gypsy darted about like a swift, and Grandma floated as if through air, and then spun around like she was young. Nanny Evgenia sang about King David.

Alyosha loved to be in the dyeing workshop, to watch how they put wood on the fire and how they boiled the paint. The master often said:

“I’ll go blind, I’ll go around the world, I’ll beg for alms from good people.”

The simple-minded boy picked up:

“Go blind quickly, uncle, I’ll go with you.”

Grigory Ivanovich advised to hold tightly to your grandmother: she is a person “almost a saint, because she loves the truth.”

When the shop foreman lost his sight, he was immediately fired. The unfortunate man walked the streets with an old woman who asked for a piece of bread for two. And the man himself was silent.

According to the grandmother, they are all guilty before Gregory, and God will punish them. And so it happened: ten years later, Kashirin Sr. was wandering the streets with his hand outstretched, begging for a penny.

Tsyganok Ivan, apprentice

Ivan offered his hand when they whipped him with rods so that the sufferer would get less. The foundling was raised in the Kashirin family from infancy. He sympathized with the newcomer: he taught him “not to shrink, but to spread like jelly” and “to wag his body after the vine.” And be sure to shout obscenities.

The gypsy was entrusted with purchasing goods for the whole family. The breadwinner rode to the fair on a gelding and carried out the assignment with great skill and diligence. He brought poultry, fish, meat, offal, flour, butter, and sweets. Everyone was surprised how five rubles could buy provisions worth 15. Grandmother explained that Ivan would steal more than he would buy. At home he was hardly scolded for this. But they were afraid that they would be caught and the gypsies would end up in prison.

The apprentice just died, being crushed by a huge cross, which he was carrying from the yard to the cemetery at the request of Uncle Yakov.

Alyosha began to be taught prayers, and his pregnant aunt Natalya worked with him a lot. Many words were incomprehensible, for example, “just like that.”

Every day my grandmother reported to God how the day went and lovingly wiped the icons. According to her, God sits under silver linden trees, and in his paradise there is neither winter nor autumn, and the flowers never wither. Akulina Ivanovna often said: “How good it is to live, how glorious.” The boy was perplexed: what’s good here? The grandfather is cruel, the brothers are angry and unfriendly, the mother left and does not return, Grigory is going blind, Aunt Natalya walks around with bruises. Nice?

But the God in whom my grandfather believed was different: strict, incomprehensible. He always punished, was “a sword over the earth, a scourge of sinners.” Fires, floods, hurricanes, diseases - all this is punishment sent from above. Grandfather never deviated from his prayer book. Grandmother once remarked: “God is bored listening to you, you keep repeating the same things, you don’t add a single word from yourself.” Kashirin got angry and threw a saucer at his wife.

Akulina Ivanovna was not afraid of anything: neither thunderstorms, nor lightning, nor thieves, nor murderers, she was incredibly brave, she even contradicted her grandfather. The only creature that terrified her was the black cockroach. The boy sometimes spent an hour catching an insect, otherwise the elderly woman could not sleep peacefully.

“I don’t understand why these creatures are needed,” the grandmother shrugged, “a louse shows that a disease is beginning, a wood lice, that the house is damp.” What are cockroaches good for?

The fire and the birth of Natalya's aunt

A fire started in the dyeing workshop, the nanny Evgenia took the children away, and Alyosha hid behind the porch because he wanted to see how the flames would eat the roof. I was amazed by the grandmother’s courage: wrapped in a bag, she ran into the fire to take out copper sulfate and jars of acetone. The grandfather screamed in fear, but the fearless woman had already run out with the necessary bags and cans in her hands.

At the same time, Aunt Natalya's labor began. When the smoldering buildings had been extinguished a little, they rushed to help the woman in labor. They heated water on the stove, prepared dishes and basins. But the unfortunate woman died.

The grandfather taught his grandson to read and write. I was happy: the boy was growing smart. When Alyosha read the psalter, his grandfather’s severity went away. Called the pet a heretic, with salty ears. He taught: “Be cunning, only a sheep is simple-minded.”

Grandfather talked much less often than grandmother about his past, but no less interesting. For example, about the French near Balakhna, who were sheltered by a Russian landowner. They seem like enemies, but it’s a pity. The housewives handed out hot rolls to the prisoners; the Bonapartists loved them very much.

Grandfather argued about what he had read with the cab driver Peter. Both were spouting sayings. They also tried to determine which of the saints was the most holy.

Street cruelty

The sons of Vasily Kashirin separated. Alyosha hardly went out, he didn’t get along with the boys, it was more interesting at home. The boy could not understand how anyone could be bullied.

The tomboys stole Jewish goats, tortured dogs, and poisoned weak people. So, they shouted to one man in ridiculous clothes: “Igosha is death in your pocket!” The fallen person could be stoned. The blind master Gregory also often became their target.

Well-fed, daring Klyushnikov did not give way to Alyosha, he always offended him. But a guest nicknamed Good Deed suggested: “He’s fat, and you’re nimble and lively. The nimble and dexterous one wins.” The next day, Alyosha easily defeated his old enemy.

One day Alyosha locked the innkeeper in the cellar because she threw a carrot at her grandmother. It was necessary not only to urgently release the captive, but also to listen to the lecture: “Never meddle in the affairs of adults. Adults are spoiled and sinful people. Live with the mind of a child, don’t think that you can help your elders. It’s hard for them to figure it out themselves.”

Kashirin began to take out small sums on loan and things as collateral, wanting to earn extra money. They reported on him. Then my grandfather said that the holy saints helped him avoid prison. I took my grandson to church: only there can he be cleansed.

For the most part, the grandfather did not trust people, he saw only the bad in them, his comments were bilious and poisonous. Street wits nicknamed the owner Kashchei Kashirin. Grandmother was bright, sincere, and Grandmother’s God was also the same - shining, invariably affectionate and kind. Grandmother taught “not to obey other people’s laws and not to hide behind someone else’s conscience.”

On Sennaya Square, where there was a water pump, the townspeople beat one person. Akulina Ivanovna saw the fight, threw the yoke and rushed to save the guy, whose nostril was already torn. Alyosha was afraid to get into the tangle of bodies, but he admired his grandmother’s action.

Father's marriage story

The cabinetmaker's father, the son of an exile, wooed Varvara, but Vasily Kashirin opposed this. Akulina Ivanovna helped the young people get married secretly. Mikhail and Yakov did not accept Maxim, harmed him in every possible way, accused him of having plans for an inheritance, and even tried to drown him in the icy water of Dyukov Pond. But the son-in-law forgave the murderers and shielded them from the police officer.

For this reason, the parents left their hometown for Astrakhan, only to return five years later with an incomplete team. A watchmaker was wooing his mother, but he was unpleasant to her, and she refused him, despite pressure from her father.

Children of Colonel Ovsyannikov

Alyosha watched the neighbor's children with tall tree, but he was not allowed to communicate with them. Once he saved the youngest of the Ovsyannikovs from falling into a well. Alyosha's older brothers respected him and accepted him into their company, and he caught birds for his friends.

Social inequality
But the father, a colonel, was prejudiced against the guild foreman’s family and kicked the boy out of the yard, forbidding him even to approach his sons. For the first time Alyosha felt what social stratification was: he was not supposed to play with the barchuks, he did not suit their status.

And the Ovsyannikov brothers fell in love with their nice bird-catching neighbor and communicated with him through a hole in the fence.

Cabby driver Peter and his nephew

Peter had long conversations with Kashirin, loved to give advice and read lectures. He had a wicker face, like a sieve. Seems young, but already old. Peshkov spat on the master’s bald head from the roof, and only Peter praised him for it. He looked after his mute nephew Stepan like a father.

Having learned that Alyosha was playing with the colonel's children, Peter reported this to his grandfather, and the boy got hit. The informer ended badly: he was found dead in the snow, and the whole gang was exposed by the police: it turned out that the quite talkative Stepan, together with his uncle and someone else, were robbing churches.

Future relatives appeared in the house: my mother’s boyfriend Evgeniy Vasilyevich and his mother – a “green old woman” with parchment skin, stringy eyes, and sharp teeth. One day an elderly lady asked:

- Why do you eat so quickly? You need to be educated.

Alyosha pulled the piece out of his mouth, hooked it onto his fork and handed it to his guest:

- Eat if you feel sorry.

And one day he glued both Maximovs to chairs with cherry glue.
Mom asked her son not to play pranks, she was seriously planning to marry this eccentric. After the wedding, the new relatives left for Moscow. The son had never seen the street so deathly empty as after his mother’s departure.

The stinginess of a ruined grandfather

In his old age, the grandfather “went crazy,” as the grandmother said. He announced that he was dividing the property: Akulina - pots and pans, and everything else for him. Once again he sold the house, lent the money to the Jews, and the family moved into two rooms on the ground floor.

Lunch was prepared in turns: one day by the grandfather, the other by the grandmother, who worked part-time by weaving lace. Kashirin did not hesitate to count the tea leaves: he put more tea leaves than the other side. This means that he is supposed to drink not two, but three glasses of tea.

Mom and Evgeniy returned from Moscow, reporting that the house and all their property had burned down. But the grandfather made inquiries in time and caught the newlyweds in a lie: my mother’s new husband Maksimov lost to smithereens and ruined the family. We moved to the village of Sormovo, where there was work at a factory. Every day the whistle called the workers with a wolf howl, the checkpoint “chewed up” the crowd. Son Sasha was born and died almost immediately, followed by Nikolka, scrofulous and weak. The mother was sick and coughing. And the swindler Maksimov robbed the workers, he was fired miserably. But he got a job somewhere else. He began to cheat on his mother with women, the quarrels did not stop. Once he even hit his defenseless wife, but was rebuffed by his stepson.

Alyosha found two banknotes in the book - 1 ruble and 10 rubles. He took the ruble for himself, bought sweets and Andersen's fairy tales. Mom cried:

- Every penny counts for us, how could you?

Maksimov told his colleague about the offense, and he was the father of one of Peshkov’s classmates. At school they began to call Alyosha a thief. Varvara was shocked that her stepfather did not take pity on the boy and reported the unseemly act to strangers.

At school and at work

There were not enough textbooks, so Alyosha was not allowed to attend theology lessons. But the bishop arrived and supported the boy, who knew many psalms and the lives of saints. The student Peshkov was again allowed to attend lessons in the law of God. The boy did well in other subjects and received a certificate of merit and books. Due to lack of money, the gifts had to be given to the shopkeeper to earn 55 kopecks.

Together with his comrades Vyakhir, Churka, Khabi, Kostroma and Yazem, Alyosha collected rags, bones, glass, pieces of iron from garbage dumps and handed them over to the scrap collector. They stole logs and boards. At school, the kids began to despise Peshkov, shame him, call him a rogue, and complain that he smelled bad. The boy was sure that this was not true: after all, he tried to wash himself every day and change his clothes. As a result, he dropped out of school altogether.

3.8 (75%) 4 votes

"Childhood"

(Tale)

Retelling

In a dimly lit room, on the floor, under the window, lies the boy's father. He is dressed in white, unusually long, his cheerful eyes are covered with black circles of copper coins, his kind face frightens with bared teeth. Mother, Half Naked, is on her knees, combing her hair onto the back of her head with a comb. She continuously says something in a thick, hoarse voice and cries.

The boy is held by the hand by the grandmother. Large, soft, she also cries, pushing the boy towards his father. He resists, does not go, he is afraid and awkward. He did not understand the words of his grandmother, who advised him to say goodbye to his father before it was too late. The boy was seriously ill, he remembered that his father had fun with him during his illness, and then suddenly disappeared. He was replaced by his grandmother, who came from Nizhny. She spoke to the boy cheerfully, interestingly, affectionately, and he very quickly became friends with her. He wanted to quickly leave this room, where his mother was suppressing him. She had always been strict, clean, smooth, but now she was disheveled, growling, and did not pay attention to her son.

Black men looked in the door. The sentry soldier shouted to clear it out quickly. Suddenly the mother threw herself up heavily from the floor and immediately sat down again. She went into labor. The boy hid behind the chest and from there watched his mother squirm on the floor and his grandmother crawl around her. Suddenly a child screamed in the darkness. The grandmother thanked God for the boy who was born.

The second imprint in the boy’s memory is the cemetery and his father’s coffin in the grave. The men began to bury the grave, but the boy did not leave it. When he and his grandmother finally went to the church, she asked him why he didn’t cry? The boy replied that he didn’t want to. His father always laughed at his tears, and his mother shouted that he should not dare cry. Grandmother and grandson rode off in a droshky. The boy had never heard the name of God so often.

A few days later, Maxim’s newborn brother died on the ship. The boy looks out the window - foamy, muddy water is pouring behind him. The mother stands against the wall, unfamiliar, different. Grandmother more than once offered her food, but she was silent and motionless. In general, the grandmother spoke to the boy in a whisper, and to the mother louder, but carefully, timidly. This brought her grandson even closer to her. The mother said strange, alien words - “Saratov”, “sailor”. A man in blue appeared and brought a box. The grandmother put the body of her little brother there, but could not leave the cabin with him because she was full. Her mother took the coffin from her and they both left. The blue man asked the boy about his brother's death. To which he bombarded him with questions: who is he? Who is Saratov? where did grandma go? He told the sailor about how they buried live frogs when they buried their father. The sailor said that one should feel sorry not for the frogs, but for the mother. The ship's whistle sounded. The sailor said that he had to run, and the boy also wanted to run away. He went out to the side of the ship, where people were crowding with knapsacks and bundles. There they just pushed him and asked, whose is he? A gray-haired sailor appeared, carried him back to the cabin, and threatened him. Alone, the boy was scared, stuffy, dark. He tried to get out, but the brass handle could not be turned. He hit her with a bottle of milk, the bottle broke, and milk flowed into his boots. Distressed, the boy fell asleep, and when he woke up, the ship was already shaking and his grandmother was sitting next to him. She was combing her thick, black, very long hair. Today she seemed angry to the boy, but she answered him in a gentle and kind voice. My mother was lying on the next bed. The grandmother asked the boy why he cracked the milk bottle? She spoke, singing the words. When she smiled, her face seemed young and bright, but it was spoiled by her loose nose. She sniffed tobacco. Everything was somehow dark, but it shone through the eyes. She was stooped, almost hunchbacked, very plump, but her movements were light and deft. Before her, the boy seemed to be sleeping. And she brought him into the light, immediately becoming the most understandable and dear person.

The steamer slowly sailed towards Nizhny, the grandson and grandmother spend their days on the deck. Sometimes grandma thinks about something and gets sad. Sometimes she tells fairy tales, quietly and mysteriously, listening to her is inexpressibly pleasant. Even the sailors ask her to tell more. And they call for dinner. At dinner they treat their grandmother with vodka and their grandson with melons and watermelons. All this is hidden, because there is a man on the ship who forbids eating fruit.

The mother rarely goes on deck and stays away from the grandmother and son. The child remembered his grandmother’s joy at the sight of Nizhny. She was almost crying. When the ship stopped, a large boat approached it. Relatives came on deck. The grandmother introduced her grandson to his grandfather, uncles and aunts. Grandfather asked whose it is? The boy replied that he was from Astrakhan. “The cheekbones are like father’s,” the grandfather remarked and ordered them to get into the boat. After we got to the shore, everyone went up the hill in a crowd. Grandfather and mother walked ahead of everyone. Behind them were uncles, fat women in bright dresses and children older than a boy. He walked with his grandmother and aunt Natalya. She had a big belly and found it difficult to walk. Grandmother grumbled why Natalya was disturbed. The boy really didn’t like everyone, he felt like a stranger, even his grandmother moved away. He especially didn't like his grandfather. He seemed hostile but curious.

Having reached the end of the ramp, they came to a squat one-story house, dirty pink, with bulging windows. Although it seemed large, it was cramped and dark inside. Angry people were bustling about everywhere, and there was a pungent smell everywhere.

The boy found himself in the yard, which was also unpleasant. It was hung with wet rags and filled with vats of colorful water. In the corner, in the outbuilding, something was boiling, and an invisible person was saying strange words - “sandalwood”, “magenta”, “vitriol”.

A strange and colorful life began and flowed quickly. Now, reviving the past, the hero can say that everything was as it was, although there is a lot he wants to dispute and reject. Life in this tribe was too abundant in cruelty. But truth is higher than pity, and we need to talk about the narrow and stuffy range of impressions of an ordinary Russian person.

A few days after his arrival, he forced his grandson to learn prayers. Other children studied with the clerk. Aunt Natalya taught him. She asked to simply repeat the words of the prayer after her, without asking the meaning. Grandfather asked if he taught prayers? His aunt said he had a bad memory. Then the grandfather said that he should be whipped, and asked if his father had whipped him? The boy did not understand what they were asking him, but his mother said that his father himself did not beat him and forbade her. He said that you can’t learn by beating. Grandfather said that he would flog Sasha for the thimble. The boy did not understand what it was like to be spanked. He sometimes saw uncles give their children a slap on the head, but they said it didn’t hurt. The boy knew the story with the thimble: Uncle Mikhail decided to play a joke on the half-blind Gregory. Sasha heated the thimble and placed it under Grigory’s hand. At this time the grandfather came and put on the thimble himself. Grandfather began to look for those to blame, and Uncle Mikhail blamed everything on Sasha. Grandfather left silently. The uncles began to swear, everyone said that Uncle Mikhail was to blame. The boy asked if he would be spanked? Then Mikhail shouted to his mother to calm down her puppy, otherwise he would punish him. The mother told him to try, and everyone fell silent. She could speak short words somehow, as if she was throwing people away from her. It was clear to the boy that everyone was afraid of his mother, even his grandfather spoke to her more quietly. That's why he boasted that she was the strongest. But what happened on Saturday changed his attitude. Before Saturday, he also managed to do something wrong; he was very interested in how things were dyed, and he wanted to dye something himself. He shared his dream with Sasha, whom the adults praised for his obedience, and his grandfather called him a sycophant. Sasha Yakovov was unpleasant to Alyosha, he liked Sasha Mikhailov more. He lived alone, loved to sit in corners and near windows, and be silent. And Sasha Yakovov could talk a lot and respectably. He advised taking a white tablecloth from the closet and dyeing it Blue colour. The boy pulled out the tablecloth and lowered its edge into the vat, but Gypsy ran up and tore it out and shouted to his brother to call his grandmother. Grandmother groaned, began to cry, then began to persuade Gypsy not to say anything to grandfather, and not to tell Sashka anything, she would give him a seventh grade. On Saturday, before the all-night vigil, the boy was brought into the kitchen. Grandfather was preparing the rods. Sasha Yakovov did not ask for forgiveness in his own voice, but his grandfather said that he would forgive him when he flogged him. Sasha obediently went to the bench and lay down. Vanka tied his neck with a towel to the bench and began to hold his ankles. Grandfather called Alyosha to watch the flogging. Sasha screamed at every blow, and his grandfather said that he was beating him for the thimble and for the denunciation about the tablecloth. The grandmother screamed that she wouldn’t let Alexei be beaten and began calling her daughter. The grandfather rushed to her, grabbed the boy, and ordered him to tie him up. His grandfather caught him until he lost consciousness, and the boy was ill for several days. These days he has grown a lot, and his heart has become sensitive to resentment and pain, his own and that of others. He was also struck by the quarrel between his grandmother and mother. The grandmother reprimanded that she did not take her son away. The mother replied that she wanted to leave, she was sick. Soon she actually left to stay somewhere.

The grandfather came to the sick man. He brought gifts and said that he had overdone it. Just got excited. He remembers that he was also beaten, says that one must endure and learn from one’s own people, and not give in to strangers, that he was also offended, but he became one of the people. He began to talk about his barge hauling. Sometimes he jumped out of bed and waved his arms, showing the movements of barge haulers and water handlers. They called grandfather, but Alyosha asked not to leave. And he stayed with the boy until the evening, who realized that he was not evil and not scary. Although it was also impossible to forget the beatings. After the grandfather, everyone decided to visit the patient. Most often it was the grandmother. Gypsy also came and showed his hand. There were red welts on it. It turned out that he put his hand up so that Alyosha would get hurt less. “I took it for love,” said Tsyganok. He teaches Alyosha to let go of his body so that it won’t hurt more when they flog him again. He knows well how his grandfather hits, and wants to help the boy learn to be cunning.

Gypsy occupied special place in the house, his grandfather scolded him less, and praised him behind his back. The uncles also treated Gypsy kindly, not like Grigory, who would either heat up the scissors, or put a nail, or paint his face with magenta. The master endured everything in silence, but he developed a habit - before taking something, he generously moistened his fingers with saliva. Grandmother scolded the jokers. The uncles said bad things about Gypsy behind her back. The grandmother explained that they both wanted to take him to their workshops later. They were cunning, and the grandfather teased them, saying that he wanted to keep Ivan the Gypsy for himself.

Now the boy lived with his grandmother, and she, as on a ship, told fairy tales, or her life. From her he learned that Gypsy was a foundling. She answers Alyosha’s questions that children are abandoned due to lack of milk and poverty. The grandfather wanted to take the child to the police, but she dissuaded him. After all, many of her children died, and she took him in their place. She was very happy with Ivanka, called him a beetle, loved him.

On Sunday, when the grandfather went to the all-night vigil, Gypsy took out cockroaches, made a harness out of threads, cut out a sleigh and four blacks rode around the table, sending a cockroach “monk” after the sleigh. He also showed trained little mice, whom he treated with care, fed and kissed. He knew tricks with cards and money, he was like a child. But it was especially memorable on holidays, when everyone gathered around the festive table. We ate and drank a lot, then Uncle Yakov played the guitar. Listening to his music, I felt sorry for myself and others; everyone sat motionless and listened. Sasha Mikhailov listened especially intently, and everyone froze as if enchanted. Uncle Yakov became numb, only his fingers lived a separate life. He always sang the same song. Alyosha couldn’t stand her and cried in anguish.

Gypsy also listened to the song, sometimes regretting out loud that he did not have a voice. Grandmother invited him to dance. Yakov shouted in a swaggering manner, throwing away his melancholy, and Tsyganok went out to dance. He danced tirelessly, selflessly, and people were infected by his joy. They also screamed and squealed. The bearded master told Alyosha that his father was missing. And he called my grandmother to walk, as she sometimes walked with Maxim Savvateev. Grandmother, laughing, refused. But everyone began to ask her, and she began to dance. Alyosha thought she was funny, he snorted, but all the adults looked at him disapprovingly. The master asked Ivan not to knock his heels, and the nanny Evgenya began to sing. Grandmother did not dance, but told something. Now stopping, now giving way to someone, she danced her dance and became taller, slimmer, more beautiful and sweeter. Having finished dancing, she accepted praise from those sitting, and she herself talked about a real dancer, whose dance made her want to cry in joy. Grandmother was jealous of her.

Everyone drank vodka, Grigory most of all. He became talkative and talked more and more often about Alyosha’s father. Grandmother agreed that he was the Lord's child. The boy was uninterested and sad. One day Uncle Yakov began to tear his shirt, pull his mustache, and hit himself on the cheeks. Grandmother caught his hands and persuaded him to stop.

After drinking, my grandmother became even better, as if her heart was screaming that everything was fine. Alyosha was struck by Uncle Yakov’s words about his wife; he asked his grandmother, but, contrary to usual, she did not answer him. So the boy went to the workshop and asked Ivan. He didn’t say anything either, but the master told the boy the story that his uncle beat his wife to death, and now his conscience is tugging at him. He said that the Kashirins do not like good things, they envy, they destroy. Only the grandmother among them is completely different,

Alyosha left the workshop frightened. Everything was strange and exciting. The boy remembered that his mother and father often laughed, but in this house they laughed little, shouted, and whispered secretly. The children were nailed to the ground, and Alyosha felt like a stranger. His friendship with Ivan grew. He still exposed his hands to the lashes. In addition, Alyosha learned something else about him. It turned out that every Friday he was sent to the market for provisions. Sometimes he did not return for a long time, and everyone was worried. Grandma was most worried that they would destroy the man and the horse. When Gypsy did arrive, everyone began to unanimously carry the food he had brought. There were always much more of them than could be bought with the money my grandfather gave. It turned out that Gypsy was stealing, and everyone at home, except for his grandmother, praised him for it. The grandmother was afraid that if Ivan was caught, he would be beaten to death. Alyosha began to ask Gypsy not to steal anymore. He himself understood that this was bad, but he does it out of boredom. The gypsy asked Alyosha to learn to play the guitar, and admitted that he did not love the Kashirins, except for the woman. And he loves Alyosha because he is Peshkov.

Soon he died. He and his uncles bore a heavy cross, which Yakov wanted to place on his wife’s grave. Grandfather and grandmother were not at home; they had gone to a funeral service. Grigory advised Ivan not to keep everything to himself. Grigory took the boy to the workshop and told him about his acquaintance with his grandfather. It turned out that they started this business together, and then he became the owner. Alyosha felt pleasant and warm next to Grigory, and he taught - look everyone in the eyes. But then something terrible happened. They brought Gypsy, who was now dying in the middle of the kitchen. Blood flowed from him, he melted before our eyes. Uncle Yakov said that he tripped, his uncles threw the cross, and he was crushed. Gregory blamed them for Ivan's death. They took off Ivan’s hat and surrounded him with candles. Grandfather and grandmother and many others piled heavily into the kitchen. Alyosha crawled out from under the table where he was hiding, but his grandfather threw him away. He threatened his uncles, and his grandmother, a black woman, ordered everyone to get out. The gypsy was buried unmemorably.

Alyosha often listened to his grandmother pray. She told God what had happened, asked for everyone, so that God would give His mercy to everyone. Talking about God, she unfolded before the boy fabulous, beautiful pictures where God became someone kind and fair. She said that everything was fine in the house, but Alyosha saw the opposite. He often heard that everyone wanted to leave home: both Natalya and Grigory. Natalia was beaten by her husband, quietly from others. The grandmother said that the grandfather also beat her, and she obeyed - her husband was older than her. Sometimes it seemed to Alyosha that she was playing with icons, like dolls. She often saw devils on the roofs of neighbors, in bathhouses, and in ravines. She also told the boy fairy tales. She was not afraid of anything or anyone except cockroaches.

One day the workshop caught fire. Grandfather howled, and grandmother strictly and impressively commanded. She rushed into the fire to remove the bottle of vitriol, otherwise it might explode. She bowed to the neighbors who came running and asked for help to protect their buildings. She rushed around the yard, seeing everything, noticing everything.

After the fire, the grandfather was proud of his wife. Natalya died that night.

By spring, the uncles had left, and the house was filled with tenants. The grandmother served as a midwife, treated children, and gave economic advice. Sometimes the mother appeared in the house and quickly disappeared. Alyosha asked if his grandmother was a witch, and in response she began to talk about her youth. It turns out that she was from a poor family, her mother was disabled - her hand withered away. My grandmother learned how to weave lace from her and began to provide her own dowry. Then she married my grandfather.

One day, when grandfather was unwell, he began to teach Alyosha to read. The diploma came easily to him. Soon I was reading the psalter syllable by syllable. But he also really loved his grandfather’s tales, which he, after much persuasion, began to tell. He talked about his childhood, about the captured French, about the officer who lived next to them, about the Russian people. Grandfather said that we need to teach the Russians, to sharpen them - but there is no real sharpening machine. Sometimes my grandmother came, then she and her grandfather remembered how they went on pilgrimages, how well they lived. Then they discussed their children and admitted that they were failures. The grandfather accused the grandmother of indulging them, the grandmother reassured them that everyone had such quarrels and strife. Sometimes the grandfather calmed down from these words, and once he hit her in the face in front of Alyosha. She endured it and left.

The nightmare began again. The uncles began to argue among themselves again, Mikhail broke all of Yakov’s dishes, became violent, and then went to his father. The grandfather began to scold Yakov, reproaching him for the fact that he and his brother wanted to take Varvara’s dowry. Grandmother sent Alyosha to look out the window in order to see Mikhail approaching in time. The boy saw Mikhail enter the tavern. He told this news to his grandfather, who again sent him upstairs. The boy thought more and more often about his mother. Where does she live, what does she do? Through his thoughts, the boy notices that Uncle Mikhail is being pushed out of the gate. The grandmother sits on the chest and prays to God for reason for her children.

During the time my grandfather lived on Polevaya Street, the Kashirins’ house became famous because of fights. Uncle Mikhailo with his drunken assistants, burghers, kept the house under siege at night. The grandmother was running in the yard, persuading her son, and in response, swearing was heard. Once, on one of these evenings, the grandfather was unwell, he stood with a candle at the window, and bricks flew at him. He either laughed or cried, saying that they should kill him. Another time, Mikhailo was banging on the door, and four people - the grandfather, two guests, the innkeeper's wife - stood and waited. The door was almost knocked down, the grandmother rushed to the small window to persuade her son, but he hit her on the hand with a stake. The door swung open, my uncle jumped into the opening and was immediately swept off the porch. It turned out that my grandmother’s arm was broken, so they called in a chiropractor. Alyosha thought it was his grandmother’s death and yelled at her: “Get out!” His grandfather took him to the attic.

The boy realized early on that his grandparents had different gods. Every morning the grandmother innocently and sincerely praised God, the Mother of God, finding various new words, and this forced her grandson to listen attentively to the prayer. Morning prayer was short; she had to do some housework. Grandfather was very angry if she was late with tea.

Sometimes the grandfather woke up very early, went into the attic and, listening to her prayer, curled his lips contemptuously. He believed that you need to pray correctly, according to the canons, but she does everything wrong. Her grandfather called her a heretic, he was surprised how the Lord tolerated her, and she was sure that God understood everything, “Don’t tell Him, He will figure it out.” The boy understood that his grandmother’s God was always with her, she even spoke about Him to the animals. Her God “was equally kind, equally close” to everyone. One day, the spoiled favorite of the whole yard, the smoky cat, brought in a starling. The grandmother took the exhausted bird away and reproached the cat: “You are not afraid of God, you vile villain.” The innkeeper and the janitor began to laugh at these words, but the grandmother angrily shouted to them that cattle also understand God no worse than people.

She also talked, regretfully, with a sad horse Shara-pom, calling him an old God's worker.

Despite this, my grandmother did not pronounce the name of God as often as my grandfather.

One day he saw that the tavern owner was quarreling with her grandmother and throwing carrots at her, Alyosha decided to take revenge on her and locked her in the cellar. But her grandmother forced her to let her out, saying that she shouldn’t interfere in adult affairs.

The grandfather, wanting to teach his grandson, always told him about God, who is omnipresent and all-seeing. But his prayer was completely different from his grandmother’s. Before morning prayer, he carefully washed, dressed, and combed his hair. Then he stood in the same place near the images and impressively, firmly, clearly and demandingly began to read the prayer “I Believe.” He tensed all over, as if he was growing toward the images, becoming taller, thinner, drier.

Alyosha listened carefully to see if his grandfather would miss a word.

And if this happened, I gladly informed him about it.

One day his grandmother jokingly told him that such monotonous prayer was boring to God. The grandfather shook, threw a saucer at her head and screamed for her to get out.

When telling his grandson about the power of God, the grandfather always emphasized his cruelty. People sinned and their cities were drowned and destroyed. He said that anyone who breaks God's law will be punished with death and destruction. It was difficult for the boy to believe in a cruel God, and he thought that they were deliberately frightening him in order to make him fear not God, but his grandfather. The grandfather took his grandson to church. And even in the temple he shared which God they prayed to there. Everything that the priests read was for grandfather’s God, and everything that the singers sang in the choir was for grandmother’s. His grandfather’s God aroused hostility and fear in the boy. He seemed strict and didn't like anyone. He first of all looked for the bad, the sinful in a person, always expected repentance and loved to punish.

In those days, thoughts of God were the main food of the boy’s soul. All other sensations and impressions aroused disgust and anger in him. God was the best and brightest for him - the God of his grandmother, who loved all living things. The boy was worried about the question: how can his grandfather not see the good God?

Alyosha had no comrades. The kids didn’t like him, they called him Kashirin, which he didn’t like at all. Fights often broke out, and Alyosha came home with bruises and abrasions. But he could not calmly look at the cruelty of children when they hurt animals, beggars and Igosha Death in the Pocket. Local boys mocked him, threw stones, joked, but he could not answer them with anything except two or three curses. Another terrible impression of the street was the former master Gregory, who was completely blind and begged for alms. Alyosha was afraid to approach him and hid. Alyosha, like his grandmother, was ashamed in front of him.

There was one more person whom Alyosha was afraid of. It was a woman, Voronikha. Always drunk, blue, huge, she seemed to be sweeping the street, because everyone was running away from her. The grandmother told Alyosha that her husband sold her to her boss, and when she returned two years later, her children had died and her husband was in prison. Since then she began to drink and go out.

The grandmother cured the starling that had been taken from the cat, made a stump for it, trimmed its broken wing, and taught it to talk. Despite the fun, the boy felt very sad, dark, and ill.

Grandfather sold the house to the innkeeper, buying another, more comfortable one. Colonel Ovsyannikov, Betleng, and milkmaid Petrovna became neighbors. There was a lot in the house strangers, military man from the Tatars. In the annex there are dray drivers. Alyosha took a liking to the parasite Good Deed. They didn’t like him for his hobby - he was doing something strange. Alyosha watched him, and one day Good Deed invited him into the room. The boy asked him what he was doing? He promised to make him a cue ball so that he would not come to him anymore. Alyosha was offended and left.

Sometimes, on rainy evenings, if grandfather left home, grandmother invited all the guests to drink tea. On one of these evenings, she told a story about Ivan the warrior and Myron the hermit.

Once upon a time there lived an evil commander Gordion, he did not like the truth and most of all he did not like the elder Myron. He sends his faithful servant, Ivan the Warrior, to kill the old man and bring him his head for the dogs to eat. Ivan obeyed and went, thinking about his bitter lot. He came to the hermit, and he knew that he had come to kill. Ivan felt ashamed in front of the hermit, but he was also afraid to disobey the governor. He took out his sword and invited the hermit to pray for the last time for the entire human race. The old man says that it would be better to kill him right away, because it’s a long prayer for the human race. Myron began to pray year after year, the oak grew into an oak, a whole forest grew from his acorn, but there was no end to prayer. That's how they continue to this day. The elder asks God for joy and help to people, but Ivan’s clothes have decayed and his sword has crumbled. He cannot move from his place, apparently as a punishment, so that he does not obey an evil order, and does not hide behind someone else’s conscience. The elder’s prayer still flows to the Lord.

Good Deed listened attentively to my grandmother and tried to write it down. His grandmother's story brought tears to his eyes. The next day he came to apologize for his behavior. Grandmother forbade Alyosha to go to him, you never know what he was like. Alyosha, on the contrary, was interested in what Good Deed would do. He found him in the hole and sat down next to him. They became friends. Now Alyosha often watched what Good Deed was doing, how he melted metals. The guest spoke little, but always accurately and on time. He always knew when Alyosha was making things up and when he was telling the truth. For example, when the boy told about the fight when he and his grandmother were taking a twisted, bloody man from the townspeople, Good Deed immediately realized that it was true. He also gave advice to the boy, helping him understand that strength lies in the speed of movement. The parasite was no longer liked, the grandmother forbade him to go there, and the grandfather flogged him for every visit. The guest left, realizing that he was a stranger to people, and that’s why they didn’t like him.

After the departure of Good Deed, Alyosha became friends with Pyotr, a dray driver. He always argued with his grandfather about which of the saints was holier.

A gentleman settled in one of the neighboring houses. He had a strange habit of shooting shotgun pellets at anyone he didn't like. Peter deliberately walked past the shooter so that he would shoot at him. And after that he told stories about his lady. Sometimes on holidays Sasha - Mikhailov and Yakovov came to visit. The boys decided to steal a puppy from a neighbor's gentleman, and for this they made a plan. Alyosha had to distract the master by spitting on his head, which he did. They caught Alyosha and flogged him alone, and Uncle Peter whispered that he needed a stone. Alyosha was ashamed, offended, and when she looked at Peter’s face, she felt disgusted.

Another neighbor was Colonel Ovsyannikov. Through the fence, Alyosha watched the old men and three boys, good-natured and dexterous. One day Alyosha drew their attention to himself, but still they did not invite him to play. He witnessed one of the brothers fall into a well while playing hide and seek. Alyosha helped pull him out. A week later, the brothers appeared in the yard again and called Alyosha to their place. He learned that they did not have a mother, they were raised by their father and stepmother. In the evening, an old man appeared and took Alyosha out of the gate, ordering him not to come again. Alyosha called him an old devil, and the old man went to argue with Alyosha’s grandfather. Grandfather spanked Alyosha again. After the flogging, Alyosha got into a conversation with Peter, and he began to say bad words about the barchuks. Alyosha had a fight with him, he drove him off the cart and in front of Alyosha he lied to his grandmother, who came out to hear the noise, that he was suffering humiliation and curses from the boy, but the grandmother did not believe it. Since then, a war broke out between Alyosha and Peter. Peter tried in every possible way to annoy the boy, he did not remain in debt. The acquaintance with the barchuks continued.

Peter's behavior changed for the worse. The police came and talked to the grandfather about Peter. Then Petrovna saw him in the garden, he had a deep crack behind his ear, blood everywhere, and a saddlery knife near his right hand. It turned out that he, the mute and another man were robbing churches.

One day the boy went to catch bullfinches. Returning home, I saw three horses. Mother arrived. She decided to take Alyosha with her, her grandfather did not allow it. Having escorted the child out of the room, the adults argued for a long time about some mother’s child. Later, mother and son were talking, she asked to tell him something. Soon his mother began teaching Alyosha to read and write. She forced me to learn poetry. It was difficult for Alyosha to remember them; his own poems were superimposed on the lines he read. Alyosha understood that his mother was ill with them. The grandfather was preparing something unpleasant, and after one conversation the mother went to the guests. The grandfather beat the grandmother for a long time, Alyosha later helped her clean up and pulled out the hairpins that were deeply embedded in her head. To spite his grandfather, Alyosha cut his holy calendar. The grandfather, in a rage, wanted to beat him, but his mother stood up and promised to fix everything.

The grandfather drove away the guests, the Betlings, and decided to receive the guests himself. Matryona, the grandmother’s sister, the draftsman Vasily, and Uncle Yakov began to come. In the evenings the boy watched the adults, the watchmaker, and Jacob’s songs. There were two or three such evenings, and then the master appeared on Sunday. The grandfather solemnly told the mother to go with God, that the master was a good person. Varvara tore off her clothes, remaining in only a shirt. Grandmother did not let her into the hallway, and her mother said that she would leave tomorrow. Later, during lunch, the boy realized that Russian people love to amuse themselves with grief.

After what happened, the grandfather became quieter, began to be alone more often, and read some book. The Maksimov brothers, Pyotr and Evgeniy, officers, began visiting their mother, who now lived in two rooms in the front room. After a fun Christmastide, Alyosha and Sasha Mikhailov went to school. Alyosha didn’t like school right away, but his brother, on the contrary, quickly found friends. But when he fell asleep in class one day and was ridiculed by his comrades, he stopped going to school. On the third day the boys were flogged. They hired a guide, but Sasha still managed to escape. Only in the evening they found Sasha near the monastery. They brought him home without even beating him. And he shared his escape plans with Alyosha. Alyosha could not run away with him, he decided to become an officer, and for this he needed to study. In the evening, the grandmother told the story of the court of the hermit Jonah with his stepmother. His father was given a potion by his young wife, taken out sleepily on a boat and drowned. Then she began to falsely show her grief. People believed her, but stepson Ionushko did not. He asked God and people to judge them. Let someone throw a damask knife, and whoever it hits is to blame. The stepmother began to swear at him, and people became thoughtful. An old fisherman came out and said to give him this knife. He threw it high into the sky, the knife flew into the sky like a bird, and at dawn it fell straight into the stepmother’s heart.

The next day Alyosha woke up covered in pockmarks. He was moved to the back attic and bandaged. Only his grandmother followed him. The boy had nightmares; one in which his grandmother died caused him to throw himself out of a window. The boy spent another three months in bed, his legs did not obey him. Spring came, and with it, more and more often, grandmother came with the strong smell of vodka. She told the boy the story of his father; his father’s mother died early. His godfather took him in and began to teach him carpentry, but Maxim ran away and began working for a contractor on the Kolchin steamships. There he met Varya and came to the garden to make a match. Grandmother was scared; she knew that grandfather would not give Varya to a tramp. Maxim said that he needed to run and asked Akulina Ivanovna for help. Varya admitted to her mother that they had been living as husband and wife for a long time, only now they needed to get married. Here the grandmother advised Alyosha not to persuade women to do illegal things as he grew up. The story continued: the grandmother was about to rush to fight them, but stopped; fighting couldn’t fix the matter. We agreed that grandma would arrange everything with the priest and the wedding.

My father had an enemy, and he guessed everything. When the young couple left, the scoundrel demanded fifty fifty from his grandmother. She didn’t give it, and then he told everything to his grandfather. A riot arose, sons and assistants gathered, they armed themselves with whatever they could, and gathered in pursuit. After all, grandfather wanted Varvara to marry some gentleman, not a poor one. The grandmother cut the tug at the shaft, the droshky overturned on the way, and the grandfather was late - Alyosha’s parents had already gotten married. Maxim scattered his wife's brothers, and the grandfather abandoned his daughter, and at home he beat his grandmother and ordered her not to think about her anymore. Alyosha could not understand who was telling the truth, because his grandfather told the story differently - he was in church, and the wedding was not secret.

The grandmother began to visit the newlyweds, bringing food, secretly taken from the house, and money. Varya and Maxim were happy. The child, Alyosha, was soon to appear, but the grandfather was still silent. Although he knew that grandmother goes there. His father’s heart could not stand it, he told his grandmother that the young people should come. The grandfather invited them to live with him. Maxim carried his mother-in-law in his arms, loved her like mats. They danced together, sang, and everyone had a good time. When Alyosha appeared, Maxim was so happy that even his grandfather was touched. However, his uncles did not like him for his jokes - then Lent He pointed the bottles out the window, and an eerie rumble was heard throughout the house, then he would make stuffed animals out of the killed wolves and place them in the entryway. Yakov adopted Maxim’s jokes, and together they began to make scary faces, walk the streets, and scare people. Mikhailo harbored a grudge against Maxim. Together with Yakov and another sexton, they lured him to the pond and pushed him into the hole. Maxim escaped the reprisal by cunning and stretched out under the ice so that they would no longer hit him on the hands with heels. And when they left, he got out and went to the police. He didn’t say that his uncle almost drowned him, he said that he fell himself. Together with the policeman, Maxim returned home, with gray temples, all purple, his hands covered in blood. He persuaded the grandmother to warn her sons. Then the grandfather said thanks to Maxim for not betraying his uncles. After that, Maxim lay in bed for seven weeks, and then they left for Astrakhan to build a triumphal arch.

The grandfather went bankrupt, gave one master money in interest, and he went bankrupt. Grandma told Alyosha another story about clerk Evstigney. He considered himself the smartest, taught everyone to be smart. And the demons took him to hell. They put him in the flames of hell, and he again arrogantly says that they are intoxicated.

Mother rarely went up to the attic. She changed every day, became more beautiful, something new appeared in her.

Alyosha’s legs woke up, he felt that they were alive and whole. He crawled to the door to show and please his family. In his mother’s room he met an old woman, dry and green. This was the mother of Evgeniy Maksimov. And the mother said that he would be his stepfather, the grandmother took Alyosha to the attic. Alyosha felt resentment towards the adult deceivers. As soon as he was allowed to go outside, he began to arrange a home in the pit. He pulled away the weeds and removed the bricks. During his active independent work, he gradually lost interest in household chores. Everything in the house became alien, and the old woman in green frightened him and disgusted him. She constantly made comments to Alyosha. In retaliation, he smeared cherry glue on the chairs. His grandfather spanked him, his mother spent a long time trying to persuade him not to get angry, talked about the future, and planned a lot of “later.”

Alyosha made a shelter with seats in the pit. His grandfather helped him, dug up roots from the weeds, but then gave up this activity. After all, he was going to sell the house to give his mother a dowry. The boy injured his leg with a spade and was unable to accompany his mother to the crown. Then the mother packed her things and left with Maximov for Moscow. Alyosha stayed with his grandfather to help him in the garden. The child had a quiet and contemplative time, he stopped noticing his grandfather’s conversations. The grandfather now kicked the grandmother out of the house, she lived with one son, then with another. He sold the house and rented two rooms in the basement. He also told his grandmother that now she will feed herself.

Two years passed in shaking, until the death of the mother. She arrived immediately after my grandfather moved into the basement. My stepfather and mother said that everything burned down, but my grandfather said that Evgeniy lost everything at cards. Then Alyosha ended up in a house in Sormovo, living with his grandmother, stepfather and mother. The boy constantly fought with the boys, his mother scolded him, his grandmother was for the cook and cleaner. Before the mother gave birth, the boy was again sent to his grandfather. The mother and child and grandmother arrived; it turned out that the stepfather had been kicked out of work. At the insistence of his mother, Alyosha began to go to school. There the teacher and the priest immediately disliked him. The teacher - for pranks, and the priest - for the fact that Alyosha imitated his manner of speaking. The confrontation continued until Bishop Chrysanthos arrived, who discerned in the boy knowledge of the Psalter and prayers. He talked with the students for a long time, and then took Alyosha out and advised him to restrain himself, and said that he knew the reason for his mischief.

Things got better at school, but disaster struck at home. Alyosha found money in his stepfather's book and took the ruble. He bought a book of Andersen's fairy tales, bread and sausage. At home, his mother asked him in a dying voice if he had taken the money? Alyosha confessed and showed the books, which were immediately taken away and hidden forever.

When the boy returned to school, everyone there knew about his crime and began to call him a thief. Alyosha was offended by his mother and stepfather; he did not want to go to school anymore. The mother asked which of the students spoke first? When the mother found out, she burst into tears. Alyosha started going to school again.

One day he witnessed a terrible scene. The mother tried to restrain her stepfather, and he began to kick her in the chest. Alyosha grabbed a knife and hit his stepfather in the chest with all his might. Fortunately, the mother pushed her husband away and the knife only scratched

skin. The stepfather nevertheless left home. And Alyosha fully understood that he could have stabbed him.

Remembering the leaden abominations of life, Alyosha understood that he needed to talk about this tenacious vile truth. Our life is amazing because, through the layer of this truth, Russian people overcome it, create, love, believe, hope.

Alyosha is with his grandfather again. Grandmother and grandfather divided the household, all expenses equally. Grandfather began to go asking for money to live, and they gave it to him. After fifty years of living together, he insisted on dividing everything in half. Alyosha helped his grandmother, handed over rags, and brought her the proceeds. Then he got involved with a group of teenagers, they stole planks and poles, but they liked collecting rags more. The teenagers were all from dysfunctional families, each had their own difficult story behind them. But the boys lived together, they had difficulty getting money, but they divided it equally.

Alyosha passed the third grade exams. Grandfather took all the gifts - Krylov’s book, the Gospel, a letter of commendation. Alyosha began to spend more time outside again, but this did not last long. My stepfather lost his job again and left somewhere; my mother and scrofulous Nikolai came to see my grandfather. The mother was slowly dying, the grandfather spoke more and more often about death. She died in August, and at that time my grandmother and Kolya moved into her stepfather’s apartment. Before her death, her mother stabbed Alyosha several times with the flat of a knife.

A few days after the funeral, my grandfather said: “Get out of the way, Alexey.” And so he did.

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Gorky Maxim
Childhood
A.M.Gorky
Childhood
I dedicate it to my son
I
In a dim, cramped room, on the floor, under the window, lies my father, dressed in white and unusually long; the toes of his bare feet are strangely spread out, the fingers of his gentle hands, quietly placed on his chest, are also crooked; his cheerful eyes are tightly covered with black circles of copper coins, his kind face is dark and scares me with his badly bared teeth.
Mother, half naked, in a red skirt, is on her knees, combing her father’s long, soft hair from his forehead to the back of his head with a black comb, which I used to saw through the rinds of watermelons; the mother continuously says something in a thick, hoarse voice, her grey eyes swollen and seem to melt, flowing down in large drops of tears.
My grandmother is holding my hand - round, big-headed, with huge eyes and a funny, doughy nose; she is all black, soft and surprisingly interesting; she also cries, somehow singing along with her mother especially and well, she trembles all over and tugs at me, pushing me towards my father; I resist, hide behind her; I'm scared and embarrassed.
I have never seen big people cry before, and I did not understand the words repeatedly spoken by my grandmother:
- Say goodbye to your aunt, you will never see him again, he died, my dear, at the wrong time, at the wrong time...
I was seriously ill - I had just gotten back to my feet; During my illness - I remember this well - my father merrily fussed with me, then he suddenly disappeared and was replaced by my grandmother, a strange person.
-Where did you come from? - I asked her.
She answered:
- From above, from Nizhny, but she didn’t come, but she arrived! They don't walk on water, shush!
It was funny and incomprehensible: upstairs in the house lived bearded, painted Persians, and in the basement an old, yellow Kalmyk was selling sheepskins. You can slide down the stairs astride the railing, or when you fall, you can roll head over heels, I knew that well. And what does water have to do with it? Everything is wrong and funny confused.
- Why am I crazy?
“Because you make noise,” she said, also laughing.
She spoke kindly, cheerfully, smoothly. From the very first day I became friends with her, and now I want her to quickly leave this room with me.
My mother suppresses me; her tears and howls sparked a new, anxious feeling in me. This is the first time I see her like this - she was always strict, spoke little; she is clean, smooth and big, like a horse; she has a tough body and terribly strong arms. And now she is all somehow unpleasantly swollen and disheveled, everything on her is torn; the hair, lying neatly on the head, in a large light cap, scattered over the bare shoulder, fell on the face, and half of it, braided in a braid, dangled, touching the sleeping father's face. I’ve been standing in the room for a long time, but she’s never looked at me,” she combs her father’s hair and keeps growling, choking on tears.
Black men and a sentry soldier look in the door. He shouts angrily:
- Clean it up quickly!
The window is curtained with a dark shawl; it swells like a sail. One day my father took me on a boat with a sail. Suddenly thunder struck. My father laughed, squeezed me tightly with his knees and shouted:
- Don't be afraid of anything, Luk!
Suddenly the mother threw herself up heavily from the floor, immediately sank down again, toppled over onto her back, scattering her hair across the floor; her blind, white face turned blue, and baring her teeth, like her father, she said in a scary voice:
- Shut the door... Alexei - get out!
Pushing me away, my grandmother rushed to the door and shouted:
- Dear ones, don’t be afraid, don’t touch, leave for Christ’s sake! This is not cholera, the birth has come, have mercy, fathers!
I hid in a dark corner behind a chest and from there I watched my mother squirm across the floor, groaning and gritting her teeth, and my grandmother, crawling around, said affectionately and joyfully:
- In the name of father and son! Be patient, Varyusha!.. Most Holy Mother of God, Intercessor:
I'm scared; They are fidgeting on the floor near their father, touching him, moaning and screaming, but he is motionless and seems to be laughing. This lasted a long time - fussing on the floor; More than once the mother rose to her feet and fell again; grandmother rolled out of the room like a big black soft ball; then suddenly a child screamed in the darkness.
- Glory to you, Lord! - said the grandmother. - Boy!
And lit a candle.
I must have fallen asleep in the corner - I don’t remember anything else.
The second imprint in my memory is a rainy day, a deserted corner of the cemetery; I stand on a slippery mound of sticky earth and look into the hole where my father’s coffin was lowered; at the bottom of the pit there is a lot of water and there are frogs - two have already climbed onto the yellow lid of the coffin.
At the grave - me, my grandmother, a wet guard and two angry men with shovels. Warm rain, fine as beads, showers everyone.
“Bury,” said the watchman, walking away.
Grandmother began to cry, hiding her face in the end of her headscarf. The men, bent over, hastily began to throw earth into the grave, water began to gush; Jumping from the coffin, the frogs began to rush onto the walls of the pit, clods of earth knocking them to the bottom.
“Go away, Lenya,” said grandmother, taking me by the shoulder; I slipped out from under her hand; I didn’t want to leave.
“What are you, my God,” the grandmother complained, either to me or to God, and stood silently for a long time, with her head down; The grave has already been leveled to the ground, but it still stands.
The men loudly splashed their shovels on the ground; the wind came and drove away, carried away the rain. Grandmother took me by the hand and led me to a distant church, among many dark crosses.
- Aren't you going to cry? - she asked when she went outside the fence. I would cry!
“I don’t want to,” I said.
“Well, I don’t want to, so I don’t have to,” she said quietly.
All this was surprising: I cried rarely and only from resentment, not from pain; my father always laughed at my tears, and my mother shouted:
- Don't you dare cry!
Then we drove along a wide, very dirty street in a droshky, among dark red houses; I asked my grandmother:
- Won’t the frogs come out?
“No, they won’t come out,” she answered. - God be with them!
Neither father nor mother spoke the name of God so often and so closely.
A few days later, I, my grandmother and my mother were traveling on a ship, in a small cabin; my newborn brother Maxim died and lay on the table in the corner, wrapped in white, swaddled with red braid.
Perched on bundles and chests, I look out the window, convex and round, like the eye of a horse; Behind the wet glass, muddy, foamy water flows endlessly. Sometimes she jumps up and licks the glass. I involuntarily jump to the floor.
“Don’t be afraid,” says grandma and, easily lifting me with soft hands, she puts me back on the knots.
Above the water there is a gray, wet fog; somewhere far away a dark land appears and disappears again into the fog and water. Everything around is shaking. Only the mother, with her hands behind her head, stands, leaning against the wall, firmly and motionless. Her face is dark, iron and blind, her eyes are tightly closed, she is silent all the time, and everything is somehow different, new, even the dress she is wearing is unfamiliar to me.
Grandmother more than once told her quietly:
- Varya, would you like to eat something, a little, huh?
She is silent and motionless.
Grandma speaks to me in a whisper, and to my mother - louder, but somehow carefully, timidly and very little. It seems to me that she is afraid of her mother. This is clear to me and brings me very close to my grandmother.
“Saratov,” the mother said unexpectedly loudly and angrily. - Where is the sailor?
So her words are strange, alien: Saratov, sailor.
A wide, gray-haired man dressed in blue came in and brought a small box. The grandmother took him and began to lay out his brother’s body, laid him down and carried him to the door on outstretched arms, but - fat - she could only walk through the narrow door of the cabin sideways and hesitated funny in front of it.
“Eh, mother,” my mother shouted, took the coffin from her, and they both disappeared, and I remained in the cabin, looking at the blue man.
- What, did your brother leave? - he said, leaning towards me.
- Who are you?
- Sailor.
- And who is Saratov?
- City. Look out the window, there he is!
Outside the window the ground was moving; dark, steep, it smoked with fog, reminiscent big piece bread, just cut from a loaf.
-Where did grandma go?
- To bury my grandson.
- Will they bury him in the ground?
- What about it? They will bury it.
I told the sailor how they buried live frogs when burying my father. He picked me up, hugged me tightly and kissed me.
- Eh, brother, you still don’t understand anything! - he said. - There is no need to feel sorry for the frogs, God be with them! Have pity on the mother - look how her grief hurt her!
There was a hum and a howl above us. I already knew that it was a steamer and was not afraid, but the sailor hastily lowered me to the floor and rushed out, saying:
- We must run!
And I also wanted to run away. I walked out the door. The dark, narrow crevice was empty. Not far from the door, copper glittered on the steps of the stairs. Looking up, I saw people with knapsacks and bundles in their hands. It was clear that everyone was leaving the ship, which meant I had to leave too.
But when, together with a crowd of men, I found myself at the side of the ship, in front of the bridge to the shore, everyone began to shout at me:
- Whose is this? Whose are you?
- Don't know.
They pushed me, shook me, groped me for a long time. Finally a gray-haired sailor appeared and grabbed me, explaining:
- This is from Astrakhan, from the cabin...
He carried me into the cabin at a run, put me in some bundles and left, wagging his finger:
- I'll ask you!
The noise overhead became quieter, the steamer no longer trembled or thumped through the water. The window of the cabin was blocked by some kind of wet wall; it became dark, stuffy, the knots seemed to be swollen, oppressing me, and everything was not good. Maybe they will leave me alone forever on an empty ship?
I went to the door. It does not open, its copper handle cannot be turned. Taking the milk bottle, I hit the handle with all my might. The bottle broke, the milk poured over my feet and flowed into my boots.
Distressed by the failure, I lay down on my bundles, cried quietly and, in tears, fell asleep.
And when I woke up, the ship was thumping and shaking again, the cabin window was burning like the sun. Grandmother, sitting next to me, scratched her hair and frowned, whispering something. She had a strange amount of hair, it thickly covered her shoulders, chest, knees and lay on the floor, black, shimmering blue. Lifting them from the floor with one hand and holding them in the air, she hardly inserted a rare-toothed wooden comb into the thick strands; her lips curled, her dark eyes sparkled angrily, and her face in this mass of hair became small and funny.
Today she seemed angry, but when I asked why her hair was so long, she said in yesterday’s warm and soft voice:
- Apparently, God gave it as punishment - comb them, you damned ones! When I was young I boasted about this mane, I swear in my old age! And you sleep! It’s still early, the sun has just risen from the night...
- I don’t want to sleep!
“Well, don’t sleep otherwise,” she immediately agreed, braiding her hair and looking at the sofa, where her mother lay face up, stretched out like a string. - How did you crack the bottle yesterday? Speak quietly!
She spoke, singing the words in a special way, and they easily became stronger in my memory, like flowers, just as affectionate, bright, juicy. When she smiled, her pupils, dark as cherries, dilated, flashing with an inexpressibly pleasant light, her smile cheerfully revealed white, strong teeth, and, despite the many wrinkles in the dark skin of her cheeks, her whole face seemed young and bright. This loose nose with swollen nostrils and red at the end spoiled him very much. She sniffed tobacco from a black snuff box decorated with silver. She was all dark, but she glowed from within - through her eyes - with an unquenchable, cheerful and warm light. She was stooped, almost hunchbacked, very plump, and she moved easily and deftly, like a big cat - she was as soft as this affectionate animal.
It was as if I was sleeping before her, hidden in the darkness, but she appeared, woke me up, brought me into the light, tied everything around me into a continuous thread, wove everything into multi-colored lace and immediately became a friend for life, the closest to my heart, the most understandable and dear person - it was her selfless love for the world that enriched me, saturating me with strong strength for a difficult life.
Forty years ago steamships moved slowly; We drove to Nizhny for a very long time, and I remember well those first days of being saturated with beauty.
Established good weather; from morning to evening I am with my grandmother on the deck, under a clear sky, between the autumn-gilded, silk-embroidered banks of the Volga. Slowly, lazily and loudly thumping across the grayish-blue water, a light-colored steamship with a barge in a long tow is stretching upstream. The barge is gray and looks like a woodlice. The sun floats unnoticed over the Volga; Every hour everything around is new, everything changes; green mountains - like lush folds on rich clothes land; along the banks there are cities and villages, like gingerbread ones from afar; gold autumn leaf floats on the water.
- Look how good it is! - Grandma says every minute, moving from side to side, and she’s all beaming, and her eyes are joyfully widened.
Often, looking at the shore, she forgot about me: she stood at the side, folded her arms on her chest, smiled and was silent, and there were tears in her eyes. I tug at her dark skirt, printed with flowers.
- Ah? - she will perk up. - It’s like I dozed off and was dreaming.
-What are you crying about?
“This, dear, is from joy and from old age,” she says, smiling. - I’m already old, after the sixth decade of summer and spring, my thoughts have spread and gone.
And, after sniffing tobacco, he begins to tell me some outlandish stories about good thieves, about holy people, about all kinds of animals and evil spirits.
She tells fairy tales quietly, mysteriously, leaning towards my face, looking into my eyes with dilated pupils, as if pouring strength into my heart, lifting me up. He speaks as if he were singing, and the further he goes, the more complex the words sound. It is indescribably pleasant to listen to her. I listen and ask:
- More!
- And here’s how it happened: an old brownie sitting in the shelter, he hurt his paw with a noodle, swaying, whimpering: “Oh, little mice, it hurts, oh, little mice, I can’t stand it!”
Raising her leg, she grabs it with her hands, swings it in the air and wrinkles her face funny, as if she herself is in pain.
There are sailors standing around - bearded, affectionate men - listening, laughing, praising her and also asking:
- Come on, grandma, tell me something else!
Then they say:
- Come have dinner with us!
At dinner they treat her with vodka, me with watermelons and melon; this is done secretly: a man travels on the ship who forbids eating fruit, takes it away and throws it into the river. He is dressed like a guard - with brass buttons - and is always drunk; people are hiding from him.
Mother rarely comes on deck and stays away from us. She is still silent, mother. Her large, slender body, dark, iron face, heavy crown of blond hair braided in braids - the whole of her, powerful and solid, is remembered to me as if through fog or a transparent cloud; Straight gray eyes, as large as grandma’s, look out from him distantly and unfriendly.
One day she said sternly:
- People are laughing at you, mom!
- And God be with them! - Grandma answered carefree. - Let them laugh, for good health!
I remember my grandmother’s childhood joy at the sight of Nizhny. Pulling my hand, she pushed me towards the board and shouted:
- Look, look how good it is! Here he is, Father Nizhny! That's what he is, for God's sake! Those churches, look, they seem to be flying!
And the mother asked, almost crying:
- Varyusha, look, tea, huh? Look, I forgot! Rejoice!
The mother smiled gloomily.
When the ship stopped against beautiful city, in the middle of a river closely cluttered with ships, bristling with hundreds of sharp masts, a large boat with many people floated up to its side, hooked itself with a hook to the lowered ladder, and one after another the people from the boat began to climb onto the deck. A small, dry old man, in a long black robe, with a red beard like gold, a bird's nose and green eyes, walked quickly ahead of everyone.
- Dad! - the mother screamed thickly and loudly and fell over on him, and he, grabbing her head, quickly stroking her cheeks with his small, red hands, shouted, squealing:
- What, stupid? Yeah! That's it... Eh, you...
Grandma hugged and kissed everyone at once, spinning like a propeller; she pushed me towards people and said hastily:
- Well, hurry up! This is Uncle Mikhailo, this is Yakov... Aunt Natalya, these are brothers, both Sasha, sister Katerina, this is our whole tribe, that’s how many!
Grandfather told her:
-Are you healthy, mother?
They kissed three times.
Grandfather pulled me out of the crowd of people and asked, holding me by the head:
-Whose will you be?
- Astrakhansky, from the cabin...
-What is he saying? - the grandfather turned to his mother and, without waiting for an answer, pushed me aside, saying:
- Those cheekbones are like fathers... Get into the boat!
We drove ashore and walked in a crowd up the hill, along a ramp paved with large cobblestones, between two high slopes covered with withered, trampled grass.
Grandfather and mother walked ahead of everyone. He was as tall as her arm, walked shallowly and quickly, and she, looking down at him, seemed to be floating through the air. Behind them silently moved the uncles: black, smooth-haired Mikhail, dry as a grandfather, fair and curly Yakov, some fat women in bright dresses and about six children, all older than me and all quiet. I walked with my grandmother and little aunt Natalya. Pale, blue-eyed, with a huge belly, she often stopped and, breathless, whispered:
- Oh, I can’t!
- Why did they bother you? - Grandmother grumbled angrily. - Eco stupid tribe!
Both adults and children - I didn’t like them all, I felt like a stranger among them, even my grandmother somehow faded and moved away.
I especially didn’t like my grandfather; I immediately sensed an enemy in him, and I developed a special attention to him, a cautious curiosity.
We reached the end of the congress. At the very top of it, leaning against the right slope and starting the street, stood a squat one-story house, painted dirty pink, with a low roof and bulging windows. From the street it seemed large to me, but inside it, in the small, dimly lit rooms, it was cramped; Everywhere, as on a steamship in front of the pier, angry people were fussing, children were darting about in a flock of thieving sparrows, and everywhere there was a pungent, unfamiliar smell.
I found myself in the yard. The yard was also unpleasant: it was all hung with huge wet rags, filled with vats of thick, multi-colored water. The rags were also soaked in it. In the corner, in a low, dilapidated outbuilding, wood was burning hot in the stove, something was boiling, gurgling, and an invisible man was loudly saying strange words:
- Sandalwood - magenta - vitriol...
II
It began and flowed with terrible speed, thick, motley, inexpressibly strange life. I remember it as a harsh tale, well told by a kind but painfully truthful genius.

Maksim Gorky

I dedicate it to my son

In a dim, cramped room, on the floor, under the window, lies my father, dressed in white and unusually long; the toes of his bare feet are strangely spread out, the fingers of his gentle hands, quietly placed on his chest, are also crooked; his cheerful eyes are tightly covered with black circles of copper coins, his kind face is dark and scares me with his badly bared teeth.

Mother, half naked, in a red skirt, is on her knees, combing her father’s long soft hair from his forehead to the back of his head with a black comb, which I used to saw through the rinds of watermelons; the mother continuously says something in a thick, hoarse voice, her gray eyes are swollen and seem to melt, flowing down with large drops of tears.

My grandmother is holding my hand - round, big-headed, with huge eyes and a funny, doughy nose; she is all black, soft and surprisingly interesting; she also cries, singing along with her mother in a special and good way, she trembles all over and tugs at me, pushing me towards my father; I resist, hide behind her; I'm scared and embarrassed.

I had never seen big people cry before, and I did not understand the words repeatedly spoken by my grandmother:

- Say goodbye to your aunt, you will never see him again, he died, my dear, at the wrong time, at the wrong time...

I was seriously ill - I had just gotten back to my feet; During my illness - I remember this well - my father merrily fussed with me, then he suddenly disappeared and was replaced by my grandmother, a strange person.

-Where did you come from? – I asked her.

She answered:

- From above, from Nizhny, but she didn’t come, but she arrived! They don't walk on water, shush!

It was funny and incomprehensible: upstairs in the house lived bearded, painted Persians, and in the basement an old yellow Kalmyk was selling sheepskins. You can slide down the stairs astride the railing, or when you fall, you can roll somersault - I knew that well. And what does water have to do with it? Everything is wrong and funny confused.

- Why am I pissed?

“Because you make noise,” she said, also laughing.

She spoke kindly, cheerfully, smoothly. From the very first day I became friends with her, and now I want her to quickly leave this room with me.

My mother suppresses me; her tears and howls sparked a new, anxious feeling in me. This is the first time I see her like this - she was always strict, spoke little; she is clean, smooth and big, like a horse; she has a tough body and terribly strong arms. And now she is all somehow unpleasantly swollen and disheveled, everything on her is torn; the hair, lying neatly on the head, in a large light cap, scattered over the bare shoulder, fell on the face, and half of it, braided in a braid, dangled, touching his father’s sleeping face. I’ve been standing in the room for a long time, but she’s never looked at me, she combs her father’s hair and keeps growling, choking on tears.

Black men and a sentry soldier look in the door. He shouts angrily:

- Clean it up quickly!

The window is curtained with a dark shawl; it swells like a sail. One day my father took me on a boat with a sail. Suddenly thunder struck. My father laughed, squeezed me tightly with his knees and shouted:

- It’s okay, don’t be afraid, Luk!

Suddenly the mother threw herself up heavily from the floor, immediately sank down again, toppled over onto her back, scattering her hair across the floor; her blind, white face turned blue, and, baring her teeth like her father, she said in a terrible voice:

- Shut the door... Alexei - get out!

Pushing me away, my grandmother rushed to the door and shouted:

- Dear ones, don’t be afraid, don’t touch me, leave for Christ’s sake! This is not cholera, the birth has come, for mercy, priests!

I hid in a dark corner behind a chest and from there I watched my mother squirm across the floor, groaning and gritting her teeth, and my grandmother, crawling around, said affectionately and joyfully:

- In the name of father and son! Be patient, Varyusha! Most Holy Mother of God, Intercessor...

I'm scared; They are fiddling around on the floor near their father, touching him, moaning and screaming, but he is motionless and seems to be laughing. This lasted a long time - fussing on the floor; More than once the mother rose to her feet and fell again; grandmother rolled out of the room like a big black soft ball; then suddenly a child screamed in the darkness.

- Glory to you, Lord! - said the grandmother. - Boy!

And lit a candle.

I must have fallen asleep in the corner - I don’t remember anything else.

The second imprint in my memory is a rainy day, a deserted corner of the cemetery; I stand on a slippery mound of sticky earth and look into the hole where my father’s coffin was lowered; at the bottom of the hole there is a lot of water and there are frogs - two have already climbed onto the yellow lid of the coffin.

At the grave - me, my grandmother, a wet guard and two angry men with shovels. Warm rain, fine as beads, showers everyone.

“Bury,” said the watchman, walking away.

Grandmother began to cry, hiding her face in the end of her headscarf. The men, bent over, hastily began to throw earth into the grave, water began to gush; Jumping from the coffin, the frogs began to rush onto the walls of the pit, clods of earth knocking them to the bottom.

“Move away, Lenya,” my grandmother said, taking me by the shoulder; I slipped out from under her hand; I didn’t want to leave.

“Oh, my God,” the grandmother complained, either to me or to God, and stood silently for a long time, her head bowed; The grave has already been leveled to the ground, but it still stands.

The men loudly splashed their shovels on the ground; the wind came and drove away, carried away the rain. Grandmother took me by the hand and led me to a distant church, among many dark crosses.

-Aren't you going to cry? – she asked when she went outside the fence. - I would cry!

“I don’t want to,” I said.

“Well, I don’t want to, so I don’t have to,” she said quietly.

All this was surprising: I cried rarely and only from resentment, not from pain; my father always laughed at my tears, and my mother shouted:

- Don't you dare cry!

Then we rode along a wide, very dirty street in a droshky, among dark red houses; I asked my grandmother:

- Won’t the frogs come out?

“No, they won’t get out,” she answered. - God be with them!

Neither father nor mother spoke the name of God so often and so closely.

A few days later, I, my grandmother and my mother were traveling on a ship, in a small cabin; my newborn brother Maxim died and lay on the table in the corner, wrapped in white, swaddled with red braid.

Perched on bundles and chests, I look out the window, convex and round, like the eye of a horse; Behind the wet glass, muddy, foamy water flows endlessly. Sometimes she jumps up and licks the glass. I involuntarily jump to the floor.

“Don’t be afraid,” says grandma and, easily lifting me with soft hands, she puts me back on the knots.

There is a gray, wet fog over the water; Far away somewhere a dark land appears and disappears again into fog and water. Everything around is shaking. Only the mother, with her hands behind her head, stands leaning against the wall, firmly and motionless. Her face is dark, iron and blind, her eyes are tightly closed, she is silent all the time, and everything is somehow different, new, even the dress she is wearing is unfamiliar to me.

Grandmother more than once told her quietly:

- Varya, would you like to eat something, a little, eh?

She is silent and motionless.

Grandma speaks to me in a whisper, and to my mother - louder, but somehow carefully, timidly and very little. It seems to me that she is afraid of her mother. This is clear to me and brings me very close to my grandmother.

“Saratov,” the mother said unexpectedly loudly and angrily. -Where is the sailor?

So her words are strange, alien: Saratov, sailor.

A wide, gray-haired man dressed in blue came in and brought a small box. The grandmother took him and began to lay out his brother’s body, laid him down and carried him to the door on outstretched arms, but, being fat, she could only walk through the narrow door of the cabin sideways and hesitated funny in front of it.

“Eh, mother,” my mother shouted, took the coffin from her, and they both disappeared, and I remained in the cabin, looking at the blue man.

- What, little brother left? - he said, leaning towards me.

- Who are you?

- Sailor.

– Who is Saratov?

- City. Look out the window, there he is!

Outside the window the ground was moving; dark, steep, it smoked with fog, resembling a large piece of bread that had just been cut from a loaf.

-Where did grandma go?

- To bury my grandson.

- Will they bury him in the ground?

- What about it? They will bury it.

I told the sailor how they buried live frogs when burying my father. He picked me up, hugged me tightly and kissed me.

- Eh, brother, you still don’t understand anything! - he said. - There is no need to feel sorry for the frogs, God bless them! Have pity on the mother - look how her grief hurt her!

There was a hum and a howl above us. I already knew that it was a steamer and was not afraid, but the sailor hastily lowered me to the floor and rushed out, saying:

- We must run!

And I also wanted to run away. I walked out the door. The dark, narrow crevice was empty. Not far from the door, copper glittered on the steps of the stairs. Looking up, I saw people with knapsacks and bundles in their hands. It was clear that everyone was leaving the ship, which meant I had to leave too.

But when, together with a crowd of men, I found myself at the side of the ship, in front of the bridge to the shore, everyone began to shout at me:

- Whose is this? Whose are you?

- Don't know.

They pushed me, shook me, groped me for a long time. Finally a gray-haired sailor appeared and grabbed me, explaining:

- This is from Astrakhan, from the cabin...

He carried me into the cabin at a run, put me in some bundles and left, wagging his finger:

- I'll ask you!

The noise overhead became quieter, the steamer no longer trembled or thumped through the water. The window of the cabin was blocked by some kind of wet wall; it became dark, stuffy, the knots seemed to be swollen, oppressing me, and everything was not good. Maybe they will leave me alone forever on an empty ship?

I went to the door. It does not open, its copper handle cannot be turned. Taking the milk bottle, I hit the handle with all my might. The bottle broke, the milk poured over my feet and flowed into my boots.

Distressed by the failure, I lay down on the bundles, cried quietly and, in tears, fell asleep.

And when I woke up, the ship was thumping and shaking again, the cabin window was burning like the sun.

Grandmother, sitting next to me, scratched her hair and winced, whispering something. She had a strange amount of hair, it thickly covered her shoulders, chest, knees and lay on the floor, black, tinged with blue. Lifting them from the floor with one hand and holding them in the air, she hardly inserted a rare-toothed wooden comb into the thick strands; her lips curled, her dark eyes sparkled angrily, and her face in this mass of hair became small and funny.

Today she seemed angry, but when I asked why her hair was so long, she said in yesterday’s warm and soft voice:

- Apparently, God gave it as punishment - comb them, you damned ones! When I was young I boasted about this mane, I swear in my old age! And you sleep! It’s still early, the sun has just risen from the night...

- I don’t want to sleep!

“Well, don’t sleep otherwise,” she immediately agreed, braiding her hair and looking at the sofa, where her mother lay face up, stretched out. - How did you crack the bottle yesterday? Speak quietly!

She spoke, singing the words in a special way, and they easily became stronger in my memory, like flowers, just as affectionate, bright, juicy. When she smiled, her pupils, dark as cherries, dilated, flashing with an inexpressibly pleasant light, her smile cheerfully revealed her strong white teeth, and, despite the many wrinkles in the dark skin of her cheeks, her whole face seemed young and bright. This loose nose with swollen nostrils and red at the end spoiled him very much. She sniffed tobacco from a black snuff box decorated with silver. She was all dark, but she glowed from within - through her eyes - with an unquenchable, cheerful and warm light. She was stooped, almost hunchbacked, very plump, and she moved easily and deftly, like a big cat - she was as soft as this affectionate animal.

It was as if I was sleeping before her, hidden in the darkness, but she appeared, woke me up, brought me into the light, tied everything around me into a continuous thread, wove everything into multi-colored lace and immediately became a friend for life, the closest to my heart, the most understandable and dear person - it was her selfless love for the world that enriched me, saturating me with strong strength for a difficult life.

Forty years ago steamships moved slowly; We drove to Nizhny for a very long time, and I remember well those first days of being saturated with beauty.

The weather was fine; from morning to evening I am with my grandmother on the deck, under a clear sky, between the autumn-gilded, silk-embroidered banks of the Volga. Slowly, lazily and loudly thumping across the greyish-blue water, a light-red steamship with a barge in a long tow is stretching upstream. The barge is gray and looks like a woodlice. The sun floats unnoticed over the Volga; Every hour everything around is new, everything changes; green mountains are like lush folds on the rich clothing of the earth; along the banks there are cities and villages, like gingerbread ones from afar; golden autumn leaf floats on the water.

- Look how good it is! - Grandma says every minute, moving from side to side, and she’s all beaming, and her eyes are joyfully widened.

Often, looking at the shore, she forgot about me: she stood at the side, folded her arms on her chest, smiled and was silent, and there were tears in her eyes. I tug at her dark skirt, printed with flowers.

- Ass? - she perks up. “It’s like I dozed off and was dreaming.”

-What are you crying about?

“This, dear, is from joy and from old age,” she says, smiling. - I’m already old, in my sixth decade of summer and spring, my thoughts have spread and gone.

And, after sniffing tobacco, he begins to tell me some strange stories about good thieves, about holy people, about all kinds of animals and evil spirits.

She tells stories quietly, mysteriously, leaning towards my face, looking into my eyes with dilated pupils, as if pouring strength into my heart, lifting me up. He speaks as if he were singing, and the further he goes, the more complex the words sound. It is indescribably pleasant to listen to her. I listen and ask:

- And here’s how it happened: an old brownie was sitting in the pod, he hurt his paw with a noodle, he was rocking, whining: “Oh, little mice, it hurts, oh, little mice, I can’t stand it!”

Raising her leg, she grabs it with her hands, swings it in the air and wrinkles her face funny, as if she herself is in pain.

There are sailors standing around - bearded gentle men - listening, laughing, praising her and also asking:

- Come on, grandma, tell me something else!

Then they say:

- Come have dinner with us!

At dinner they treat her with vodka, me with watermelons and melon; this is done secretly: a man travels on the ship who forbids eating fruit, takes it away and throws it into the river. He is dressed like a guard - with brass buttons - and is always drunk; people are hiding from him.

Mother rarely comes on deck and stays away from us. She is still silent, mother. Her large slender body, dark, iron face, heavy crown of blond hair braided in braids - all of her powerful and solid - are remembered to me as if through fog or a transparent cloud; Straight gray eyes, as large as grandma’s, look out of it distantly and unfriendly.

One day she said sternly:

– People are laughing at you, mother!

- And God be with them! - Grandma answered carefree. - Let them laugh, for good health!

I remember my grandmother’s childhood joy at the sight of Nizhny. Pulling my hand, she pushed me towards the board and shouted:

- Look, look how good it is! Here it is, father, Nizhny! That's what he is, for God's sake! Those churches, look, they seem to be flying!

And the mother asked, almost crying:

- Varyusha, look, tea, huh? Look, I forgot! Rejoice!

The mother smiled gloomily.

When the steamer stopped opposite a beautiful city, in the middle of a river closely cluttered with ships, bristling with hundreds of sharp masts, a large boat with many people floated up to its side, hooked itself with a hook to the lowered ladder, and one after another the people from the boat began to climb onto the deck. A small, dry old man, in a long black robe, with a red beard like gold, a bird's nose and green eyes, walked quickly ahead of everyone.

- Dad! - the mother screamed thickly and loudly and fell over on him, and he, grabbing her head, quickly stroking her cheeks with his small red hands, shouted, squealing:

- What, stupid? Yeah! That's it... Eh, you...

Grandma hugged and kissed everyone at once, spinning like a propeller; she pushed me towards people and said hastily:

- Well, hurry up! This is Uncle Mikhailo, this is Yakov... Aunt Natalya, these are brothers, both Sasha, sister Katerina, this is our whole tribe, that’s how many!

Grandfather told her:

-Are you okay, mother?

They kissed three times.

Grandfather pulled me out of the crowd of people and asked, holding me by the head:

-Whose will you be?

- Astrakhansky, from the cabin...

-What is he saying? - the grandfather turned to his mother and, without waiting for an answer, pushed me aside, saying:

- Those cheekbones are like fathers... Get into the boat!

We drove ashore and walked in a crowd up the mountain, along a ramp paved with large cobblestones, between two high slopes covered with withered, trampled grass.

Grandfather and mother walked ahead of everyone. He was as tall as her arm, walked shallowly and quickly, and she, looking down at him, seemed to be floating through the air. Behind them silently moved the uncles: black, smooth-haired Mikhail, dry as a grandfather; fair and curly-haired Yakov, some fat women in bright dresses and about six children, all older than me and all quiet. I walked with my grandmother and little aunt Natalya. Pale, blue-eyed, with a huge belly, she often stopped and, breathless, whispered:

- Oh, I can’t!

- Did they bother you? - Grandmother grumbled angrily. - What a stupid tribe!

I didn’t like both the adults and the children, I felt like a stranger among them, even my grandmother somehow faded and moved away.

I especially didn’t like my grandfather; I immediately sensed an enemy in him, and I developed a special attention to him, a cautious curiosity.

We reached the end of the congress. At the very top of it, leaning against the right slope and beginning the street, stood a squat one-story house, painted dirty pink, with a low roof and bulging windows. From the street it seemed large to me, but inside it, in the small, dimly lit rooms, it was cramped; Everywhere, as on a steamship in front of the pier, angry people were fussing, children were darting about in a flock of thieving sparrows, and everywhere there was a pungent, unfamiliar smell.

I found myself in the yard. The yard was also unpleasant: it was all hung with huge wet rags, filled with vats of thick, multi-colored water. The rags were also soaked in it. In the corner, in a low, dilapidated outbuilding, wood was burning hot in the stove, something was boiling, gurgling, and an invisible man was loudly saying strange words:

A dense, motley, inexpressibly strange life began and flowed with terrible speed. I remember it as a harsh tale, well told by a kind but painfully truthful genius. Now, reviving the past, I myself sometimes find it hard to believe that everything was exactly as it was, and I want to dispute and reject a lot - the dark life of the “stupid tribe” is too rich in cruelty.

But truth is higher than pity, and I’m not talking about myself, but about that close, stuffy circle of terrible impressions in which a simple Russian person lived - and still lives - to this day.

Grandfather's house was filled with a hot fog of mutual enmity of everyone with everyone; it poisoned adults, and even children took an active part in it. Subsequently, from my grandmother’s stories, I learned that my mother arrived precisely on those days when her brothers persistently demanded a division of property from their father. The unexpected return of their mother further exacerbated and intensified their desire to stand out. They were afraid that my mother would demand the dowry assigned to her, but withheld by my grandfather, because she had married “by hand,” against his will. The uncles believed that this dowry should be divided between them. They, too, had long and fiercely argued with each other about who should open a workshop in the city, and who should open a workshop beyond the Oka, in the settlement of Kunavin.

Soon after their arrival, in the kitchen during dinner, a quarrel broke out: the uncles suddenly jumped to their feet and, leaning over the table, began to howl and growl at grandfather, baring their teeth pitifully and shaking themselves like dogs, and grandfather, banging his spoon on the table, turned red full and loudly - like a rooster - he cried:

- I’ll send it around the world!

Contorting her face painfully, the grandmother said:

“Give them everything, father, it will make you feel better, give it back!”

- Tsits, potatchica! - the grandfather shouted, his eyes sparkling, and it was strange that, such a small one, he could scream so deafeningly.

The mother got up from the table and, slowly walking away to the window, turned her back to everyone.

Suddenly Uncle Mikhail hit his brother in the face with a backhand; he howled, grappled with him, and both rolled on the floor, wheezing, groaning, swearing.

The children began to cry, pregnant aunt Natalya screamed desperately; my mother dragged her somewhere, taking her in her arms; the cheerful, pockmarked nanny Evgenya was kicking the children out of the kitchen; chairs fell; the young, broad-shouldered apprentice Tsyganok sat astride Uncle Mikhail’s back, and master Grigory Ivanovich, a bald, bearded man in dark glasses, calmly tied his uncle’s hands with a towel.

Stretching his neck, the uncle rubbed his sparse black beard across the floor and wheezed terribly, and the grandfather, running around the table, cried out pitifully:

- Brothers, ah! Native blood! Oh you...

Even at the beginning of the quarrel, I was frightened, jumped onto the stove and from there watched in terrible amazement as my grandmother washed away the blood from Uncle Yakov’s broken face with water from a copper washstand; he cried and stamped his feet, and she said in a heavy voice:

- Damned, wild tribe, come to your senses!

The grandfather, pulling a torn shirt over his shoulder, shouted to her:

- What, the witch gave birth to animals?

When Uncle Yakov left, grandma poked her head into the corner, howling amazingly:

- Most Holy Mother of God, restore reason to my children!

Grandfather stood sideways to her and, looking at the table, where everything was overturned and spilled, he said quietly:

- You, mother, look after them, otherwise they will harass Varvara, what good...

- That's enough, God be with you! Take off your shirt, I’ll sew it up...

And, squeezing his head with her palms, she kissed her grandfather on the forehead; He, small opposite her, poked his face into her shoulder:

- Apparently we need to share, mother...

- We must, father, we must!

They talked for a long time; At first it was friendly, and then the grandfather began to shuffle his foot along the floor, like a rooster before a fight, shook his finger at the grandmother and whispered loudly:

- I know you, you love them more! And your Mishka is a Jesuit, and Yashka is a farmer! And they will drink up my goodness and squander it...

Turning awkwardly on the stove, I knocked the iron over; thundering down the steps of the building, he plopped into a tub of slop. Grandfather jumped onto the step, pulled me down and began to look into my face as if he was seeing me for the first time.

-Who put you on the stove? Mother?

- No, myself. I was afraid.

He pushed me away, lightly hitting my forehead with his palm.

- Just like my father! Go away…

I was glad to escape from the kitchen.

I clearly saw that my grandfather was watching me with his smart and keen green eyes, and I was afraid of him. I remember I always wanted to hide from those burning eyes. It seemed to me that my grandfather was evil; he speaks to everyone mockingly, insultingly, teasing and trying to anger everyone.

- Oh, you! - he often exclaimed; The long “ee-and” sound always gave me a dull, chilly feeling.

At the hour of rest, during evening tea, when he, his uncles and workers came to the kitchen from the workshop, tired, with their hands stained with sandalwood, burnt with vitriol, with their hair tied with a ribbon, all looking like dark icons in the corner of the kitchen - in this dangerous For an hour my grandfather sat opposite me and, arousing the envy of his other grandchildren, talked to me more often than to them. It was all foldable, chiseled, sharp. His satin, silk-embroidered, blank waistcoat was old and worn out, his cotton shirt was wrinkled, there were large patches on the knees of his pants, but still he seemed to be dressed cleaner and more handsome than his sons, who wore jackets, shirtfronts and silk scarves around their necks.

A few days after my arrival, he forced me to learn prayers. All the other children were older and were already learning to read and write from the sexton of the Assumption Church; its golden heads were visible from the windows of the house.

I was taught by the quiet, timid Aunt Natalya, a woman with a childish face and such transparent eyes that, it seemed to me, through them I could see everything behind her head.

I loved to look into her eyes for a long time, without looking away, without blinking; she squinted, turned her head and asked quietly, almost in a whisper:

- Well, please say: “Our Father like you...”

And if I asked: “What is it like?” – She looked around timidly and advised:

– Don’t ask, it’s worse! Just say after me: “Our Father”... Well?

I was worried: why is asking worse? The word “as if” took on a hidden meaning, and I deliberately distorted it in every possible way:

- “Yakov”, “I’m in leather”...

But the pale, as if melting aunt patiently corrected her in a voice that kept breaking up in her voice:

- No, you just say: “as it is”...

But she herself and all her words were not simple. This irritated me, preventing me from remembering the prayer.

One day my grandfather asked:

- Well, Oleshka, what did you do today? Played! I can see it by the nodule on my forehead. It's not great wisdom to make money! Have you memorized “Our Father”?

The aunt said quietly:

- His memory is bad.

The grandfather grinned, raising his red eyebrows cheerfully.

- And if so, then you need to flog!

And he asked me again:

- Did your father whip you?

Not understanding what he was talking about, I remained silent, and my mother said:

- No, Maxim didn’t beat him, and he forbade me too.

- Why so?

“I said you can’t learn by beating.”

- He was a fool in everything, this Maxim, a dead man, God forgive me! – the grandfather said angrily and clearly.

I was offended by his words. He noticed this.

- Are you pouting your lips? Look...

And, stroking the silver-red hair on his head, he added:

“But on Saturday I’ll flog Sashka for a thimble.”

- How to flog it? – I asked.

Everyone laughed, and the grandfather said:

- Wait, you'll see...

Hiding, I thought: flogging means embroidering dresses that have been dyed, and flogging and beating are the same thing, apparently. They beat horses, dogs, cats; In Astrakhan, guards beat Persians - I saw that. But I have never seen little children be beaten like that, and although here the uncles flicked theirs first on the forehead, then on the back of the head, the children treated it indifferently, only scratching the bruised place. I asked them more than once:

- Hurt?

And they always responded bravely.

- No, not at all!

I knew the noisy story with the thimble. In the evenings, from tea to dinner, the uncles and the master sewed pieces of colored material into one “piece” and attached cardboard labels to it. Wanting to play a joke on the half-blind Gregory, Uncle Mikhail ordered his nine-year-old nephew to heat the master’s thimble over a candle fire. Sasha clamped the thimble with tongs for removing carbon deposits from candles, heated it up very hot and, discreetly placing it under Gregory’s arm, hid behind the stove, but just at that moment the grandfather came, sat down to work and stuck his finger into the red-hot thimble.

I remember when I ran into the kitchen hearing the noise, my grandfather, clutching his ear with his burnt fingers, jumped funny and shouted:

- Whose business is it, infidels?

Uncle Mikhail, bent over the table, pushed the thimble with his finger and blew on it; the master sewed calmly; shadows danced across his huge bald head; Uncle Yakov came running and, hiding behind the corner of the stove, laughed quietly there; Grandma was grating raw potatoes.

– Sashka Yakovov arranged this! - Uncle Mikhail suddenly said.

- You're lying! – Yakov shouted, jumping out from behind the stove.

And somewhere in the corner his son was crying and shouting:

- Dad, don't believe it. He taught me himself!

The uncles began to quarrel. Grandfather immediately calmed down, put grated potatoes on his finger and silently left, taking me with him.

Everyone said that Uncle Mikhail was to blame. Naturally, over tea I asked whether he would be whipped and flogged?

“We should,” grumbled the grandfather, looking sideways at me.

Uncle Mikhail, hitting the table with his hand, shouted to his mother:

- Varvara, calm down your puppy, otherwise I’ll break his head!

Mother said:

- Try it, touch it...

And everyone fell silent.

She knew how to speak short words somehow, as if she pushed people away from her with them, threw them away, and they diminished.

It was clear to me that everyone was afraid of their mother; even grandfather himself spoke to her differently than to others - more quietly. This pleased me, and I proudly boasted to my brothers:

– My mother is the strongest!

They didn't mind.

But what happened on Saturday tore my relationship with my mother.

Before Saturday I also managed to do something wrong.

I was very interested in how cleverly adults change the colors of materials: they take yellow, soak it in black water, and the material turns deep blue - “cube”; rinse the gray in red water, and it becomes reddish - “burgundy”. Simple, but incomprehensible.

I wanted to color something myself, and I told Sasha Yakovov, a serious boy, about it; he always kept himself in front of adults, affectionate with everyone, ready to serve everyone in every possible way. The adults praised him for his obedience and intelligence, but grandfather looked at Sasha sideways and said:

- What a sycophant!

Thin, dark, with bulging, crab-like eyes, Sasha Yakovov spoke hastily, quietly, choking on his words, and always looked around mysteriously, as if about to run somewhere, to hide. His brown pupils were motionless, but when he was excited, they trembled along with the whites.

He was unpleasant to me.

I liked the inconspicuous hulk Sasha Mikhailov much more, a quiet boy, with sad eyes and a good smile, very similar to his meek mother. He had ugly teeth; they protruded from the mouth and grew in two rows in the upper jaw. This occupied him greatly; he constantly kept his fingers in his mouth, swinging them, trying to pull out the teeth of the back row, and obediently allowed everyone who wanted to feel them. But I didn’t find anything more interesting in it. In a house crowded with people, he lived alone, loved to sit in dim corners, and in the evening by the window. It was good to be silent with him - to sit by the window, pressed closely against it, and be silent for a whole hour, watching how in the red evening sky around the golden bulbs of the Assumption Church black jackdaws hovered and darted, soared high up, fell down and, suddenly covering the fading sky like a black network, disappear somewhere, leaving emptiness behind them. When you look at this, you don’t want to talk about anything, and a pleasant boredom fills your chest.

And Uncle Yakov’s Sasha could talk a lot and respectably about everything, like an adult. Having learned that I wanted to take up the craft of a dyer, he advised me to take a white festive tablecloth from the closet and dye it blue.

– White is the easiest to paint, I know! – he said very seriously.

I pulled out a heavy tablecloth and ran out into the yard with it, but when I lowered the edge of it into a vat of “pot”, Gypsy flew at me from somewhere, tore out the tablecloth and, wringing it out with his wide paws, shouted to his brother, who was watching my work from the entryway:

- Call grandma quickly!

And, ominously shaking his black shaggy head, he said to me:

- Well, you’ll get hit for this!

My grandmother came running, groaned, even cried, cursing me funny:

- Oh, you Permian, your ears are salty! May they be lifted and slapped!

Then Gypsy began to persuade:

- Don’t tell grandpa, Vanya! I’ll hide the matter; maybe it will work out somehow...

Vanka spoke worriedly, wiping his wet hands with a multi-colored apron:

- Me, what? I will not say; Look, Sashutka wouldn’t lie!

“I’ll give him seventh grade,” my grandmother said, taking me into the house.

On Saturday, before the all-night vigil, someone led me into the kitchen; it was dark and quiet there. I remember tightly closed doors to the hallway and to the rooms, and outside the windows the gray haze of an autumn evening, the rustle of rain. In front of the black forehead of the stove, on a wide bench, sat an angry Gypsy, unlike himself; Grandfather, standing in the corner by the tub, selected long rods from a bucket of water, measured them, stacking them one with the other, and swung them through the air with a whistle. Grandmother, standing somewhere in the dark, loudly sniffed tobacco and grumbled:

– Pa-hell... torturer...

Sasha Yakovov, sitting on a chair in the middle of the kitchen, rubbed his eyes with his fists and in a voice that was not his own, like an old beggar, drawled:

- Forgive me for Christ's sake...

Uncle Mikhail’s children, brother and sister, stood behind the chair like wooden ones, shoulder to shoulder.

“If I flog you, I’ll forgive you,” said grandfather, passing a long wet rod through his fist. - Come on, take off your pants!..

Sasha stood up, unbuttoned his pants, lowered them to his knees and, supporting him with his hands, bent over and stumbled towards the bench. Watching him walk was not good, my legs were shaking too.

But it got even worse when he obediently lay down on the bench face down, and Vanka, tying him to the bench under his arms and around his neck with a wide towel, bent over him and grabbed his legs at the ankles with his black hands.

“Lexei,” the grandfather called, “come closer!.. Well, who am I telling?.. Look how they flog... Once!..”

With a low wave of his hand, he slammed the rod on his naked body. Sasha squealed.

“You’re lying,” said the grandfather, “it doesn’t hurt!” But this way it hurts!

Notes

Sandalwood - red dye obtained from sandalwood.

Magenta- red dye.

Vitriol - sulfuric acid salts used in production.

Semishnik - same as seventh: two-kopeck coin.

End of free trial.

Maksim Gorky

I dedicate it to my son

In a dim, cramped room, on the floor, under the window, lies my father, dressed in white and unusually long; the toes of his bare feet are strangely spread out, the fingers of his gentle hands, quietly placed on his chest, are also crooked; his cheerful eyes are tightly covered with black circles of copper coins, his kind face is dark and scares me with his badly bared teeth.

Mother, half naked, in a red skirt, is on her knees, combing her father’s long, soft hair from his forehead to the back of his head with a black comb, which I used to saw through the rinds of watermelons; the mother continuously says something in a thick, hoarse voice, her gray eyes are swollen and seem to melt, flowing down with large drops of tears.

My grandmother is holding my hand - round, big-headed, with huge eyes and a funny, doughy nose; she is all black, soft and surprisingly interesting; she also cries, somehow singing along with her mother especially and well, she trembles all over and tugs at me, pushing me towards my father; I resist, hide behind her; I'm scared and embarrassed.

I have never seen big people cry before, and I did not understand the words repeatedly spoken by my grandmother:

Say goodbye to your uncle, you will never see him again, he died, my dear, at the wrong time, at the wrong time...

I was seriously ill - I had just gotten back to my feet; During my illness - I remember this well - my father merrily fussed with me, then he suddenly disappeared and was replaced by my grandmother, a strange person.

Where did you come from? - I asked her.

She answered:

From above, from Nizhny, but she didn’t come, but she arrived! They don't walk on water, shush!

It was funny and incomprehensible: upstairs in the house lived bearded, painted Persians, and in the basement an old, yellow Kalmyk was selling sheepskins. You can ride down the stairs on the railing or, when you fall, you can roll head over heels, I knew that well. And what does water have to do with it? Everything is wrong and funny confused.

Why am I freaking out?

Because you make noise,” she said, also laughing.

She spoke kindly, cheerfully, smoothly. From the very first day I became friends with her, and now I want her to quickly leave this room with me.

My mother suppresses me; her tears and howls sparked a new, anxious feeling in me. This is the first time I see her like this - she was always strict, spoke little; she is clean, smooth and big, like a horse; she has a tough body and terribly strong arms. And now she is all somehow unpleasantly swollen and disheveled, everything on her is torn; the hair, lying neatly on the head, in a large light cap, scattered over the bare shoulder, fell on the face, and half of it, braided in a braid, dangled, touching his father’s sleeping face. I’ve been standing in the room for a long time, but she’s never looked at me,” she combs her father’s hair and keeps growling, choking on tears.

Black men and a sentry soldier look in the door. He shouts angrily:

Clean it up quickly!

The window is curtained with a dark shawl; it swells like a sail. One day my father took me on a boat with a sail. Suddenly thunder struck. My father laughed, squeezed me tightly with his knees and shouted:

Don't be afraid of anything, Luk!

Suddenly the mother threw herself up heavily from the floor, immediately sank down again, toppled over onto her back, scattering her hair across the floor; her blind, white face turned blue, and, baring her teeth like her father, she said in a terrible voice:

Shut the door... Alexei - out!

Pushing me away, my grandmother rushed to the door and shouted:

Dear ones, don’t be afraid, don’t touch, leave for Christ’s sake! This is not cholera, the birth has come, have mercy, fathers!

I hid in a dark corner behind a chest and from there I watched my mother squirm across the floor, groaning and gritting her teeth, and my grandmother, crawling around, said affectionately and joyfully:

In the name of father and son! Be patient, Varyusha!.. Most Holy Mother of God, Intercessor:

I'm scared; They are fidgeting on the floor near their father, touching him, moaning and screaming, but he is motionless and seems to be laughing. This lasted a long time - fussing on the floor; More than once the mother rose to her feet and fell again; grandmother rolled out of the room like a big black soft ball; then suddenly a child screamed in the darkness.

Glory to you, Lord! - said the grandmother. - Boy!

And lit a candle.

I must have fallen asleep in the corner - I don’t remember anything else.

The second imprint in my memory is a rainy day, a deserted corner of the cemetery; I stand on a slippery mound of sticky earth and look into the hole where my father’s coffin was lowered; at the bottom of the pit there is a lot of water and there are frogs - two have already climbed onto the yellow lid of the coffin.

At the grave - me, my grandmother, a wet guard and two angry men with shovels. Warm rain, fine as beads, showers everyone.

“Bury,” said the watchman, walking away.

Grandmother began to cry, hiding her face in the end of her headscarf. The men, bent over, hastily began to throw earth into the grave, water began to gush; Jumping from the coffin, the frogs began to rush onto the walls of the pit, clods of earth knocking them to the bottom.

Move away, Lenya,” said the grandmother, taking me by the shoulder; I slipped out from under her hand; I didn’t want to leave.

“What are you, my God,” the grandmother complained, either to me or to God, and stood silently for a long time, with her head down; The grave has already been leveled to the ground, but it still stands.

The men loudly splashed their shovels on the ground; the wind came and drove away, carried away the rain. Grandmother took me by the hand and led me to a distant church, among many dark crosses.

Aren't you going to cry? - she asked when she went outside the fence. I would cry!

“I don’t want to,” I said.

Well, I don’t want to, so I don’t have to,” she said quietly.

All this was surprising: I cried rarely and only from resentment, not from pain; my father always laughed at my tears, and my mother shouted:

Don't you dare cry!

Then we drove along a wide, very dirty street in a droshky, among dark red houses; I asked my grandmother:

Won't the frogs come out?

No, they won’t come out,” she answered. - God be with them!

Neither father nor mother spoke the name of God so often and so closely.

A few days later, I, my grandmother and my mother were traveling on a ship, in a small cabin; my newborn brother Maxim died and lay on the table in the corner, wrapped in white, swaddled with red braid.

Perched on bundles and chests, I look out the window, convex and round, like the eye of a horse; Behind the wet glass, muddy, foamy water flows endlessly. Sometimes she jumps up and licks the glass. I involuntarily jump to the floor.

“Don’t be afraid,” says grandma and, easily lifting me with soft hands, she puts me back on the knots.

Above the water there is a gray, wet fog; somewhere far away a dark land appears and disappears again into the fog and water. Everything around is shaking. Only the mother, with her hands behind her head, stands, leaning against the wall, firmly and motionless. Her face is dark, iron and blind, her eyes are tightly closed, she is silent all the time, and everything is somehow different, new, even the dress she is wearing is unfamiliar to me.

Grandmother more than once told her quietly:

Varya, would you like to eat something, a little, eh?

She is silent and motionless.

Grandma speaks to me in a whisper, and to my mother - louder, but somehow carefully, timidly and very little. It seems to me that she is afraid of her mother. This is clear to me and brings me very close to my grandmother.

Saratov,” the mother said unexpectedly loudly and angrily. - Where is the sailor?

So her words are strange, alien: Saratov, sailor.

A wide, gray-haired man dressed in blue came in and brought a small box. The grandmother took him and began to lay out his brother’s body, laid him down and carried him to the door on outstretched arms, but - fat - she could only walk through the narrow door of the cabin sideways and hesitated funny in front of it.

“Eh, mother,” my mother shouted, took the coffin from her, and both of them disappeared, and I remained in the cabin, looking at the blue man.

What, did your brother leave? - he said, leaning towards me.

And who is Saratov?

City. Look out the window, there he is!

Outside the window the ground was moving; dark, steep, it smoked with fog, reminiscent of a large piece of bread that had just been cut from a loaf.

Where did grandma go?

To bury a grandson.

Will they bury him in the ground?

But what about it? They will bury it.

I told the sailor how they buried live frogs when burying my father. He picked me up, hugged me tightly and kissed me.

Eh, brother, you still don’t understand anything! - he said. - There is no need to feel sorry for the frogs, God be with them! Have pity on the mother - look how her grief hurt her!

There was a hum and a howl above us. I already knew that it was a steamer and was not afraid, but the sailor hastily lowered me to the floor and rushed out, saying:

We must run!

And I also wanted to run away. I walked out the door. The dark, narrow crevice was empty. Not far from the door, copper glittered on the steps of the stairs. Looking up, I saw people with knapsacks and bundles in their hands. It was clear that everyone was leaving the ship, which meant I had to leave too.

But when, together with a crowd of men, I found myself at the side of the ship, in front of the bridge to the shore, everyone began to shout at me:

Whose is this? Whose are you?